Birdsong (A Criminal Minds fanfic)
by Dontforgetmelondon
Summary: Charlotte has just been let down from one of the biggest job opportunities she had, and has no clue what to do. She finds refuge in her record player and the tracks they spin. In a time in her life when all she could care about is the net worth and the rungs on a career ladder, could something make her believe in more?
1. Iris- The Goo Goo Dolls

_And I don't want the world to see me_

 _'cause I don't think that they'd understand._

 _When everything's meant to be broken_

 _I just want you to know who I am_

I turn up the record until I can't even hear myself think. I let the words wash over me like gospel from some holy book. I take a shower. Two showers. I stay in the shower so long they start blending together. I feel bad. My downstairs neighbor probably isn't going to have any warm water by the time they take theirs, but I'll apologize tomorrow. If I see them. Maybe I'll just leave a note. Tell them I needed it for some reason, like my washing machine broke or I was doused in glue or something. I won't think about that now. I just need myself tonight. Just myself and the Goo Goo Dolls and the shreds of that damn _pink slip_ that didn't even have my name spelled right. It doesn't even matter now. My desk is empty, you can't even read my name on the slip anymore and- godammit.- I can _feel_ the water getting colder.

I remove myself from the rapidly cooling water and slip into my fuzzy robe, still listening to the album through the player. I wrap my hair in a spare towel and throw myself onto my bed. I curl up into the middle of a small nest I made out of my pillows by putting them in a circle and covering it with blankets. I then insert myself and cover _myself_ with blankets. Lovely process. I remember reading a fact once- somewhere, I can't remember where- about how if you sleep with multiple pillows you are more likely to have depression. I felt lucky to be one of the ones who didn't. Sure, some selective anxieties and frequent mild paranoia, but I never had depression. I don't even feel like I could call what I am depressed, out of respect for actual depressed people. People kill themselves over depression. Depression was a ruthless monster that didn't stop chasing you until you got tired and it caught up. Sure, I felt lifeless and tired and unwilling to do anything and I would much rather the world forget me at the moment rather than try to forget what happened, and yes, this is the worst feeling of my life, but I will not, I _cannot_ be depressed.

I was a hard worker all throughout high school. I did every assignment, every bonus project, every damn extracurricular I could weasel myself into. Who even wants to join the ecology club? Nobody wants to join the ecology club! Mothers force their children into it so they can say their child is in something and that is why anybody ever joins the ecology club ever. I spent hundreds of dollars paying for applications to ask the top schools in America to consider me as a student. Three of them actually accepted me, and I graduated fifth in my class from one of the most prestigious Pilot schools in the country.

I was going to pilot Air Force one. Air. Force. Freaking. One. I was probably going to shake the president's hand and fly out to camp David and fly around the world to some of the most historically influencing events in the world. I was going to do what I loved and watch the universe before me unravel and re-ravel and look at the tops of cities people from my hometown wouldn't even think of thinking of visiting. I was in the running. I was being trained.

And then I was booted. For one reason or another- My type two diabetes or the fact that I was in the running with four white males or the fact that I was always a bit slower during flight tests. I would always take my time, nervous that one failing lever would end my career. They didn't even give me a sufficient reason, just that I 'had shown from my results in training and testing' that I wasn't 'qualified'.

Now it didn't matter. Now it was a story. Now it was a part of me that couldn't actually happen anymore. I can't go back. I don't even know what I can do now. Become a commercial airliner pilot? Just call me homeless now! I don't just want to see the world, I want to see the world and know there's a difference happening there. I want to be somewhere where I know something is changing for the better.

I'll probably send in some job applications for being a flight lessons instructor tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever I care to remove myself from the nest.

The record starts ticking, which means that it's over. I throw myself out of bed and onto the floor, inching my way there until I can take it off. I may be unwilling to advance anymore for myself, unable to even think about not being able to pursue my dreams again, doesn't mean that I don't care about worn record needles. Those cost more than my first car.

I wrap myself up in one of my fuzziest blankets, like a cape. Here, tis I, Queen Charlotte (with an e, thank you very much.) Nicole Wills of the lazy dynasty, reigning matriarch of unemployment and crying in the shower.

I'm still singing the song in my head when I drift to sleep, surrounded by books and pillows and the unmistakable relief cloud of unconsciousness following a bout of anxiety

Spencer's POV.

Another day, another trip home from a city I won't revisit the skyline of. Another drowsy apartment building buzzing with dying flies and dim incandescent lights. Another novel read in five minutes. Another cold shower.


	2. Extraordinary Machine- Fiona Apple

_If there was a better way to go then it would find me_

 _I can't help it, the road just rolls out behind me_

 _Be kind to me, or treat me mean_

 _I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine_

'BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP'

What is that?

'BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP'

I roll around until I can actually grasp the small menace before chucking it across the room. I hear it hit my bookshelf and land in the garbage can. Fantastic. I get up, my face sagging with tiredness and laced in a fine pattern of pink blood rush. I stumble across the room, my feet agilely dodging things like a tossed hairbrush or a wrapper of something that I forgot to throw away. I fish my phone out of the wastebasket to read reluctantly in giant block letters across the screen.

'SLOAN

(Annoying nerd boy)

DO NOT ANSWER'

Why would he be calling me? Why now? Why this early in the morning? I check the time sitting just below his name and see that it is indeed not morning, but three in the afternoon. Still. Why would the whiny annoying boy from flight amp be calling her? Sloan was short and skinny, with square glasses the same thickness as PVC pipe. He was a know it all, a baby, and a snob. And sadly, He took to me like a mutant fish to toxic waste, which was to say, well. He would always congratulate me when I got good grades and then proceed to offer me 'tips' and 'pointers' even though I hadn't asked for any. He would offer me countless times for a study date for our next test over every type of delivery food you can think of. I had a lovely habit of getting headaches or scheduling skype sessions with home at the exact same time he invited me places. Sloan was the type of person who would order a dish with very specific standards and then send it back if it didn't taste how he thought it would taste, even if he had never had it before. In other words, getting rid of him was the best thing that came out of my discharge.

I sigh and pick up the phone, ready to say 'wrong number' and hang up.

"Hello?"

"Hey! Charlotte! It's me, Jerry! I hope you're adjusting well to the job search life! However, it sound like you're not doing very well, your nose sounds all sniffly and your voice sounds lower, so you've probably been crying, huh? Why not tell me about it? We never talk anymore!"

I sigh again, resisting the sudden urge to eat glass.

"Hello Sloan."

"C'mon, Char. Call me Jerry!"

"Charlotte." I mumble. I'm not one of those people who necessarily has issue with nicknames, but only with people who know me well enough to nickname me.

"I'm fine, Sloan. I am fine. I haven't been crying, and I literally left three days ago. I am tired"

"Tired? It's three P.M. And I thought you were a morning person!"

I should stop. I should tell him that my (nonexistent) cat is dying or that someone just paged in that Elton John was in my apartment complex and that I just had to see him or…

"I am, Sloan. I tried getting up this morning, but after doing a few chores, I just fell back asleep. I think I'm sick."

Not entirely untrue, I watered my plants and fed my fish and put an apology note on my downstairs neighbor's door, but then the whole 'fall back asleep until an unhealthy hour' thing was more my own will and design.

"Oh! You see, I figured. Coach took us to the FBI and CIA one day to see how the techies there work. I got to check out the BAU. I didn't mention this to the others but they were outspokenly impressed." Oh, I bet they were, you never ending talk box of a man. And then, he keeps going, unsurprisingly.

"You know, I was going to ask if you were on your, You kno-"

I hang up. I expect that he'll take the hint and not try that hopefully, ever again in his lifetime, but it seems that he doesn't know better. After four calls go unanswered, he starts texting me

BING

 _HEY_

BING

 _WHATS UP_

BING

 _Sorry for the caps lock XD_

BING

BING

BING

I turned my phone off. I'll fix this later. Make an excuse, maybe get a new number. Doesn't really matter now. Sleep. Well, sleep, a record on the player, and late-late breakfast, which was a staple of the opportune-less life.

And long live the Queen.

Spencer's POV

I wake up to my alarm, the familiar beeping drawing my head from my pillows and launching my hand to the off button. It's still dark outside except for the city lights twinkling through my curtains. It's cold outside of the bed. It always is. I have the overwhelming desire to stay in bed, to forget everything, to sleep, but this seems a fruitless cause, because:

A) I can't forget, and I doubt I ever will

B) The city will awaken soon, the cars beeping and planes landing and I won't be able to concentrate enough to even close my eyes.

C) Hotch will kill me if I don't get up.

And so I rise, attacked by the cold and darkness of the room I sometimes rarely sleep in. I run my hands through my hair and try to find my light switch, my hands running over my walls until it's underneath my fingers. I flick at it and flinch, for my eyes weren't ready for the quick transition. I wipe over my eyes, sweeping the sleep away, and start getting ready.

I remind myself of the nimble Felis Catus (House cat) when I get ready. Mostly in that I find it extremely easy to fall over and stumble over myself when I'm trying to be swift, tripping over the clothes I don while trying to keep my balance.

I believe myself to be ready when I do a final check in the mirror. Great. I seem to have changed- for the most part- into my work clothes, but not out of my PJs. And no matter how cool I think Star Trek is, I wouldn't be caught dead wearing Starfleet fleece in front of Derek Morgan, or any of my coworkers, for that matter. The clock is running out and if I'm not quick I might actually be on time, instead of my usual early manner, but I shouldn't fret. I'll be early. I always am.

Once my actual pants are on, I go to the bathroom to wash my face and brush a comb through my hair. I think it looks fine, but both Prentiss and JJ have suggested putting it in a ponytail. It's occurred to me, but I don't really like it. It makes my hair all tight and really uncomfortable. It's funny. Ponytails are typically looked at as being feminine in today's day and age, but ponytails can be traced back as early as the eighteenth century when men wore their hair up in ribbons. It wasn't until the twentieth century until women wore them, and even then, they rarely wore them outside of the boudoir. A lot of things weren'-

My thought process is thrown off track when I realize the water coming from the sink spicket isn't getting warmer, even though the hot water dial is turned all the way up. The cold water dial isn't even on. I feel my hands. They're ice. I've probably had my hands here for two or three minutes and I haven't noticed. My thought process has been a bit dazed recently, I've been less aware of my surroundings. I can't let this happen when I get to work. I assume the hot water's out or something, maybe a broken heater or busted pipe. Even though washing your hands in cold water isn't the most efficient for killing germs, it'll have to do. I swipe an old physics book from my shelf for the metro and head out the door.

There's a note there. It's blue and it has terrible handwriting on it, but it's big, so I can read it. Well, considering my mom's a schizophrenic, I've had plenty of experience with illegible writing. I used to find it everywhere, on the walls, traced over itself in childhood books I used to read, in permanent marker on the dashboard of our car…

The writing says

"Sorry about your hot water! I accidently used it all while trying to hand wash some of my clothes. Won't happen again!

-Your upstairs neighbor. (5G)

P.S.- If there are any crazy water bill charges showing up on your bill instead of mine, please tell me. I'd be happy to pay it."

Well that explains that. I don't think I'll talk to them, even if there is a bill. It's all just superficial stuff, nothing I wouldn't have to pay eventually. I check my watch and start running down the hall. Only fifteen minutes early. If I catch the right line, I can make it back to twenty. I run back to the door and take the note, then proceed to throw it in the trashcan next to the elevator. I know it doesn't make a difference, but having something on a door in a public hallway inclines the public to read it, even if they don't know they wanted to. It's human nature to want to know other people's business, even if I, personally, have never felt it egregiously. It's the type of simple thing that could lead to obsession or danger or death or _calling the FBI to investigate and making me pull and pull my own sanity apart to find who would do something like this to a person._

Stop. I need to stop. Stop and get on the subway and this is my job. I've seen a lot of things like this before, why does it bother me so much?

 _Because it reminded me of what I could be, who I could be, a schizo with a foggy mind and an unclear sense of right and wrong_.

Which is why I do what I do every day, help clear right and wrong.

So I'll never be one of them.


	3. The A Team- Ed Sheeran

_Been this way since eighteen_

 _But lately her face seems_

 _Slowly sinking, wasting_

 _Crumbling like pastries_

I had to turn it off. My phone, I mean. I literally had to turn it off. He continuously texted me for… well, I don't even know. I turned it on airplane mode after the fifth text following the ones I already had.I left it like that for a few days. If anyone needed to all me, I always tell them to use my home phone, because I always answer that one. Normally, I have the little 'have read' receipts on my cell phone, but just so he knew I didn't open them. I turned those off too. Then, later, I shifted though the messages just to see what in hell's name he was so excited to text me about.

 _"So I have something to tell you"_

Oh, good god.

 _"Like, you're going to love me after this. Seriously."_

Here it comes.

 _"So I know you've been really depressed about your job loss on top of your menstruation and all that jazz"_

He just used 'menstruation' in a text. I don't even think that's legal. 'All that jazz'? What even is that?! Why doesn't he just send everything in one message? Doesn't he have a data plan like everyone else? How does he pay for it?

 _"And I found something while I was at the FBI and you are going to love me. Like, take me on a date and maybe hold my hand love me"_

Nope. Never. Not for a million dollars in a million years.

 _"I found a job opportunity at the BAU and they're taking applications for someone just like you."_

What. What. What is this? Is there a piloting job there? Not exactly what I had in mind, bu- What am I thinking? Taking a job offer that Sloan of all people offered to me? Never.  
 _"It's a techie job!"_

Never in one million years.

I ignore the rest of the messages on my phone. Maybe I'll change my number later.

Now, hear me out, I'm not one to bat an eyelash at a reputable job when it's offered, but I'm incredibly-extremely- overqualified for it. And it's not like there _aren't_ jobs out there that I'm qualified for. There are pilot jobs everywhere, even if I'm not willing to take them. I mean, I _bet_ there are. I haven't checked. But how many aspiring pilots are there in the States? No, what bothers me is Sloan acting like I would be _desperate_ for this job. Like, thinking that I would be clamoring to have that application in my hands. Acting like I'm so incompetent that I would be _perfect_ for a job that the average sea-monkey could do. That's the thing about him, about Sloan. He had this way of complimenting you and insulting you at the same time. I'm not cold and it's not that I don't like people who are overly-peppy. I just don't like people who adapt the whole 'I-must-one-up-you-at-everything-and-make-you-feel-bad-all-the-while-sounding-like-an-optimist-prick' mentality. That is precisely Sloan and it is precisely why I have never taken him up on a date offer.

I should probably take the signal from the universe to actually make a resume or send in an application somewhere, but… I don't know, my rent is due at the end of the month, and I have enough money saved that I can pay it if I needed to. Maybe now's the time; that wanderlust-y sepia tone memories that you get in your twenties. The pictures you see on tumblr of attractive young adults at Coachella or on a road trip on a bus across the country with your friends. Maybe that's why they're doing what they're doing (Or at least why they have the time).They wear things that are attractive and care free. Eclectic. Quirky. Sadly, my closet has a stunning lack of Coachella-esque clothes. I don an old hoodie and pull my hair in a ponytail. Coachella enough. Minus everything else and just… Carefree. My Walkman smiles up at me and practically jumps into my hand. I don't have enough money to hitch a ride to go anywhere, but there is a park by my house. Nice, with pretty trees and it smells like petrichor on days like these. Petrichor is the smell that plants make when it rains because they're releasing their oils that kept them hydrated when it wasn't raining. It's basically the 'right after it rains' smell when you go outside. And it's one of my favorite things. Brisk September days with newly dried park benches and people walking the streets without it being congested.

Some days I like to watch them, the people- In a not creepy way. I'm not some creepy weirdo who stalks people in the park and goes home and thinks about it. I just like looking at them, the way they dress or present themselves. The way they speak or the way they ignore things. Like book characters, but they're actual human beings that became actual people and everyone is different even when they seem so. However, the world seems to be making more villain types than heroes as of recent. More people who turn blind eyes to wreckage or cause it without thought. You find a lot of that in D.C. It's really clean physically (excluding the metro) and not-so-clean morally. Fast talking politicians and lawyers and just no good people in general. Intentions are egocentric and rarely kind if intended towards others. Even me. Look at me. I'm just some girl who can't even get a job and just watches the people of a beautiful city tear each other apart piece by piece. I think if guardian angels are a thing, D.C. is their Vegas. Sure, everyone has a job (for the most part) and these jobs are pretty nice and many of us have a nice home space and maybe even some friends, but that doesn't stop us from being the biggest jerks possible at every minute or minor inconvenience that comes out way. We're like violently reacting chemicals all just being put in the same tank

When I get tired, sometimes I watch the children instead. Again, another unintentionally creepy sentence. I am not a pedophile, I promise. They just have so much more light in their eyes. More heart. They have standards and morals and they help each other when they fall down. They toss beach balls pretending to be bombs and play superhero and adventurer because they still feel like they have something to believe in, although they don't know that. I don't even really know that. It's just what I think. When the tape winds down, and I hear the last words of whatever tape I had packed- "Bowling For Soup"- I start the trek back home. You can judge all you want. 'High School Never Ends' speaks to me on a level I can't even describe. I assume everyone who would disagree with me on the matter was homeschooled.

My apartment feels empty when I get there. Lifeless. The lights fix that, somewhat, maybe. Not much. I think perhaps my excursion to the park was just a way to get the unemployment off my mind. Dirty Coachella hippies be darned, this sucked. I do not feel 'existential' or 'self-cleansed of all negative energy'. Not now. If I had done that before I was fired, maybe. Probably. I always did. Now I just feel like a people watching weirdo with Peter Pan disorder and a raging case of the unemployment blues. I can't stand this, being useless. I can't stand looking out onto the skyline and knowing that the most powerful people in the country were right outside my door, actually making a difference. College courses. Education. Training. There were people with less than what I had and with a better job. With me alone and obsolete, I create all of the things I paid for to get what I wanted obsolete as well. And it's not even like I can just cry into a bowl of ice cream with my nearest and dearest group of pals. All of my friends from high stayed put or moved elsewhere. Nobody near here and I'm not the best at 'keeping in touch'. I haven't talked to any of them in a long time… And pilot school… there's not a lot of girls there, not that I couldn't be friends with guys, but guys in pilot school aren't exactly the nicest of people. Not that I wouldn't love to be friends with prejudiced assholes with questionable competency and personalities of a wet pancake, but I digress. Maybe I'll text someone from back home later if I still feel like I need it. Someone like my mom or my cat.

After I returned my Walkman and its respective tape to their proper place (the coffee table) I return to my lovely lounging clothes. What's great about that is that the only difference between that and the clothes I wore to the park is that my lounging clothes lack a ponytail and pants. I walked past my window when my eye was caught by something bright. Fireworks. There was a ball game going on tonight, and these marked the end of it. I remember my first ball game in D.C., I thought the fireworks at the end were the prettiest fireworks to ever grace the skies, and I suppose I still do.

I was originally going to read, but I fell asleep watching the fireworks and listening to my music, the blend was surprisingly…calming.

Derek's P.O.V.

I hear the 'ding' of the plane and take off my headphones. We'll be landing in a few minutes. I'm usually the last person to get up and prepare for landing- making sure I have my luggage, cleaning up my files, finding my wallet, the works- but not today. This is probably the second time it's made the noise to warn us that we'll be landing soon, and the kid's still sleeping. He's out cold, with his face mushed up on the nearest window like a sugar crashing five year old on his way home from Disney. His glasses are crooked and his sweater fits him funny because he's been in the same position for how many hours. He puts up a good face, Spencer, but he's on a team of profilers. We all know when something's up. I'm pretty sure it was the last case we went on, before this one. The unsub was older than him, around 40, with a family history of Schizophrenia and other assorted mental disorders. He had also gone to some of the best colleges in the country. Reid was sweating, grinding his teeth, working as hard as he could to make sure that guy wound up in jail. Even though he sympathized with him, as soon as he saw what this guy had done, he worked as hard as he could to stop him. It worked, as far as forms of motivations go, but it was also pretty emotionally traumatic. The entire time we closed in on the unsub and saw his eyes, void of remorse, I knew that all the kid could see was just a reflection of his what his future could be. I know he fears that, even though he doesn't say it. I just wish I couold tell him it was fine. I wish I could tell him I knew, but the truth is? I wish I knew at all. Not that I think he has the emotional stretch or potential to do any of this, but schizophrenia is an incredibly unpredictable disorder. It does incredibly unpredictable things to people and there's rarely much anyone can do to change it.

I wake him up a minute or so before the plane lands. I wouldn't worry about him gathering his things, he probably had them ready the instant he was on the plane. His voice is sleepy and quiet, but he sobers up quick. He straightens his glasses and watches the skyline fall before him. The rest of the team files out once we're on the ground, but I can still tell he's sleep deprived. He knocks into things and I see his feet like cinder blocks, thumping one in front of the other.

"Pretty boy," I say, snapping in front of his face to get his attention. "How's about I give you a ride home tonight?" He squints at me though his glasses, registering the words a few seconds after I say them.

"Hmm? Oh, no. Sorry Morgan. I don't feel like bar hopping. I take the subway." He utters, making his way out of the central area, dragging his bags behind him. I chuckle, to show him that I'm still his friend and that he should trust me and to hide my worry for him.

"No, seriously Reid. I'll give you a ride home. You look like you need it." He smiles and presses his lips together, raising his eyebrows half-heartedly.

"I sincerely appreciate your offer, Morgan, but I'm fine taking the Metro." He keeps walking, leaving me at the top of the stairs of the plane.

"Reid!" I raise my voice, throwing my bag over my shoulder and hustling down the stairs after him.

"Yeah?"

"Listen man, I'm serious. You don't look so hot and I don't want Hotch yelling at you because you were late because you fell asleep on the subway and got robbed blind of everything. Let me take you home as a favor." He looks more frustrated now than anything. That's fine. He can be that way. I just want him to be okay.

"Okay. Morgan? If it will make you feel better, then you can drive me home. My apartment complex isn't too far from here."

"Great. Get in my truck out front, follow me."

To be honest, I think Reid would have been fine had he taken the subway by himself. I just want to take him home because I want to see if he will fall asleep on the way there. Is isn't too late in D.C. time, so him falling asleep would be a sign of significant sleep deprivation and fatigue. Plus, if I can help him up to his place, I can see inside and get a better feel at how he's really been feeling lately. Reid is a noticeably clean and organized person, so blankets on the floor or clothes not put away could be a sign of _advanced_ sleep deprivation or perhaps a thinner train of thought, leading him to forget where things are, be less aware of other things like a dead lightbulb or a towel left on the floor. Work and home space can be an evident marker of how someone is feeling without them even knowing that they're saying it.

By the time we get to his place, he has assumed his previous position on the plane in my car, a steady trail of spit sliding down my window.

Dammit, Reid.

Anyways, I grab his bag and shake him half-awake. He groans and mumbles something under his breath. I sling his luggage over one shoulder and go to the other side to help him out of his side of the truck. He must not have much experience with these types of vehicles, because he opens his door and takes a step out and practically falls out of the truck and onto me like a limp noodle. He weighs just about as much. I help him up to the lobby like he's drunk, but I can't remember the last time I saw Dr. Pretty boy over here take a drink. He's just that tired.

After some complications on the elevator, I get him up to his room and usher him in. Once I'm in, I rest his luggage on the floor beside his coffee table and scan the apartment while he passes out on the couch. What I see is just what I thought. Towels, clothes, bedsheets on the floor. He's probably been having nightmares about it, as his dreams get pretty vivid when he's emotional. I realize that if I stay any longer, he might realize what I'm doing. I look at him again and change my mind. He wouldn't register an earthquake if it happened right now. Over the soft sounds of the winding down city, I can hear something above his ceiling. Music. From one of the apartments above Reid's.

 _Crumbling like pastries_

 _And they scream_

 _The worst things in life come free to us_

They sure do, kid.

"Hey Reid. Get some sleep." I say over my shoulder as I get ready to leave. I don't really expect a response, but I get one.

"Thanks, Morgan." There's a pause.

"And Morgan?" He asks, no louder than a cat's cry. "I know why you did what you did tonight."

I freeze. "And?"

"Thanks."

Hotchner's P.O.V

Strauss called me into her office once more for the third time this week, this time to assure me that she took every precaution to make sure that I would definitely not be flying with the team for at least a week. It's kind of ironic. She wants me to take her space while she interviews some possible BAU candidates. She has always hated me. Hell, not that many years ago she tried using Prentiss to get rid of me because she thought I threatened her space where she was. Now she's asking me to take it while she has a field day talking to kids not much older than Reid looking for a job most of them were unknowingly not qualified to have. And I get to be stuck with the paperwork. To be honest, The BAU didn't need the sudden influx in funding. When Strauss was asked what we needed most, she said 'more employees'. But to be honest, I think that's to increase competition in the lower rungs so fewer people get to the higher rungs. Like shoving everyone under the bus she's driving. We don't need more employees. But I'm a professional, and I can't say that out loud.

But it doesn't mean I don't think it.


	4. Boulevard of Broken Dreams- Green Day

_I walk a lonely road_

 _The only one that I have ever known_

 _Don't know where it goes_

 _But it's home to me and I walk alone_

Charlotte P.O.V

There's something I've always hated about taking someone's advice. Like when you were little and your mom would tell you to bring a jacket? I never brought a jacket. It did not matter if we were going to Canada or Antarctica or a three hour tour of the local zoo's penguin exhibit. If my mother scoffed at me and told me to bring a jacket, a jacket would not be worn. I am especially not willing to take someone's advice if it comes from someone who thinks their advice is the best advice and continues insisting on so.

This is why I can be compared to a dragon in multiple respects today. There are other respects. I'm wearing a bright red dress that could be compared to a dragon, I want nothing more than to be left alone in the middle of my dimly lit dwelling, and oh, yeah, I want to kill Sloan with fire and my razor sharp teeth. Mostly that last one.

I wake up on my second alarm and don't actually get up until my fifth, which leaves me with about twenty minutes to actually get ready. I actually have to wear makeup so I don't look sick or on the verge of death. I didn't have to wear makeup during training. I'd get yelled at if I did. It wasn't protocol. I don't even know if I remember how to apply everything properly. I stick with cover-up to camouflage the small army of acne on my forehead, some eyelash stuff, and lipstick. The shade is different from my dress, but not by much. I hope the interviewer just dismisses it as a complimentary color.

Gussying myself up for a job interview for a job I'm overqualified for is the exact opposite of what I'd like to be doing right now. I'd definitely prefer to be sleeping. But it seems that if there's one thing that an make even the laziest of us up on our feet, it's cash. Or, at least, a lack of it. I thought I was fine, but I happened to have crossed the line by a single shower.

Let me explain. So my parents weren't thrilled when I informed them at the ripe old age of sixteen that I was going to be the pilot of the single most famous plane in the country, without any back up plan or desire to have one. I even got a bachelors in communications with a minor in engineering from a college they liked! I still didn't pursue anything in it. They didn't come close to approving until I finally got into the US Aviation Academy. They told me that as long as I kept in school and got closer to my career endgame, they would support me. Every month, an amount of money from their bank account would be wired into mine. They don't like spending money when it's unnecessary even though they could afford to. I wasn't going to tell them I was kicked out of the AF1 academy until this month's profit was wired in, but they seemed to have found out on their own. The money didn't wire in. They hadn't even called, either. In parent speak, for my parents at least, this means 'Don't come home for Christmas.'

Even without their money, I was going to have enough money for Rent and Utilities and some cheap groceries. That was until I took that extra-long shower the other night. Extra-extra-long. I had no clue extra charges on water could go that high. I won't say numbers, but as of now, I can't go on without a job. So I asked for an interview, faxed in my resume, and here I am.

I'm still scrambling around my apartment to get the last of my things. I check to make sure I'm wearing the same pair of shoes and that my hair is pulled back behind my ears. Finally, I snatch my purse from the kitchen counter and the keys beside it. I shove the keys deep into the purse as I bust out the door, but my fingers linger on them, brushing across the tiny Chewbacca keychain for a couple seconds as if it were a friend's guiding hand saying 'you can do this.' I take my hand out of my bag and rush down the hall, eager to make the 7 A.M. Metro to the place where I'll be interviewing. I didn't even really know that the BAU needed pilots. I thought most of their stuff was local. As I jump on the subway in the seconds before it closes (Take that, tight schedule!) I think of little Chewie on my keys. I know it's ridiculous, but even if my parents or friends can't be there for me, it's nice to think that the little guy is.

I should get a dog.

Hah. Like I could afford it.

I just hope I don't drop my purse during the interview. I don't think it'd look too professional to have a fuzzy Star Wars toy tumbling out onto my potential future boss's carpet.

Spencer's P.O.V.

To Diana Reid

Vegas Regional Mental Health Care Institution

157 Cresthill Rd. Las Vegas, NV

Dear Mom,

I went on another adventure today. I got to work early so I could finish up some extra work from the days before, but when everyone else showed up, Hotch told me that we had to leave, and that we had a case somewhere in Seattle. I like Seattle, I just wish it wasn't so far from where I live now. The plane rides can get kind of boring, and even though I can do work on the plane, often times there's not a lot of stuff for me to do before I'm done and I get bored. I bring books sometimes, but those never last very long, either. Logic puzzles usually fare well, just like they did when I was little. Chess, wood block puzzles, Sudoku. They're all fine, but I think the first one will always be my favorite. It always has been. Hotch told us the basis of the murders before we boarded the plane, but he told us he wouldn't be coming with us. He said he had some work to do for Strauss.

The mystery I have to solve goes something like this: So there's eleven girls who all have brown hair, and they were all killed within the course of three years. Each time someone is killed, the span of time between the murders shortens. There were eight months between the first and second, and seven between the second and third. There were so many girls dead because nobody made the connection between the murders until the eighth victim was found. They drew the connections between all of the girls because they all had brown hair and disappeared around the same time, which would be 7:30 at night. The murders keep getting sloppier and sloppier. The guy keeps changing his methods of killing them, too. They started out as very clean and simple and the Unsub buried the body efficiently enough, being so careful as to change his victim's clothing and clean their skin before disposing of the body. But as the murders go on, he gets more brutal with the murders, releasing more and more unbridled rage with each kill. It almost seems intentional.

Because the murders have been going on for so long without us knowing, they tell me that I should start working out a geographical profile when I get there and I have a whiteboard, but it's something I can start on the plane. I retrieve a small map of the Seattle area and start plotting points, trying to triangulate where the Unsub might work or live. When we've landed, I notice Rossi going to the front of the plane. He shakes the pilot's hand, nods, and smiles. He says something that looks like a 'thank you.'

"What was that?" I ask

"I've known him for a long time. It's his last day." I nod, gathering my things to get off the plane. I'm glad Rossi can congratulate someone on his last day. The fact that Rossi knows when this man's last day is means that he hung in there until retirement. That doesn't seem to happen a lot around here. People get frustrated and people die and that's just how things go. You never really know how fragile of a thing the brain is until your job is to inspect it. Sometimes it's better to take things day by day rather than look at the accumulated numbers.

When we get to the Police station, we're escorted into a back room with a table and chairs and a few whiteboards. Stacked on top are several boxes that reach up to be eye level with myself and Derek, like towers of King Arthur's castle.

"Is there a lot of past information on this case?" Derek asks, taking the lid off one of the boxes and taking out the first file inside.

"Yes and no. Each individual victim has all information on their case logged, but we've just recently suspected that they were all victim to one person." The Police Chief almost seemed embarrassed that so many people died before anyone drew a connection. She stepped out of the room, like she regretted saying anything.

"So we have the puzzle pieces, we just don't know how they fit." I say, pulling out the next file and perusing through it.

"This guy keeps his victimology pretty solid. Each time he kills a white woman in her twenties with brown hair, until the last victim, who was thirty eight." Derek says, scanning the pictures of the victims. "However, his MO is that he doesn't have one. He started drowning his victims, but that quickly escalated to more and more violent and humiliating things. And at a shorter time span every time, too. Reid, if he keeps up his escalation time like he has been, when is the estimated time for the next body?"

I mow over each one of the times a victim was found deceased, though the amount of time they remained without being found varied.

"Five days to a week?" I say. I didn't want to say it, because the possibility of finding him before then isn't very good, but it's an accurate estimate.

"Are there any signs of sexual assault?" Emily asks, she too now skimming over the papers pinned to the board.

"That's another thing," I say, going through my fourth file. "The sexual assault varies from victim to victim. In the original few kills there's no sign, but as the murders get more intense and violent, it ranges from rape to violating them with a hot fireplace stoker."

"How can we be sure this is all from the same guy? Derek asks, taking a seat with a file.

"There were eleven girls, all brunette, all gone missing at the same time of night, all turning up dead in increasingly disturbing ways. And the time between the uncovering of a new body is getting smaller. It sounds like a bit of a coincidence to me." Rossi, who has yet to dig in, presents his idea.

"You're right. Eleven girls all gone missing within three years. It's been awhile since the original one. Derek, call Garcia and see who the next living relative of the first victim is. We're going to ask them what all they remember about that night." Derek nods and fishes his phone out of his pocket.

"You have reached the world of pure imagination: Your local Willy Wonka speaking."

"Hey there baby girl," Derek smiles like he always does when Garcia answers. She always tries to find a way to make us smile, even in the most dismal of cases. She understands that without the happiness, what really is there out there at the end of the day?

"Ah, yes. Talk to me my sweet carmel latte lollipop."

"We need to ask you who are the surviving relatives of the first victim." Derek looks at the board to find her name. "Samantha Frock"

"Frock's family coming fast, my fine feathered friends." We can hear her hands typing on her computer feverishly over speakerphone. I wonder how she combats carpal tunnel? We wait the standard couple of seconds until her computer loads with the answer.

"Alright, it looks like Samantha Frock's parents both died. One in a car crash, and one from a heart attack. She left a boyfriend, who was the one to report her missing originally."

"Okay, Garcia, send us his current address. Prentiss and I will go ask him what all he remembers and at exactly what time he thought she was missing."

"Right on my chocolate-factory-children. Over and out." I'm at least on my tenth file by now, looking at each of the cases individually and then together, to see if there's any way these victims blend together.

"Good. Okay. Prentiss and I are going to go talk to this guy to see what he can tell us. Derek, go check the apartment of the most previous victim to see if there's anything out of place or suspicious. Reid, start setting up the geographical profile on one of the whiteboards and try to find some sort of pattern. Try and find out if he's trying to send a message or if these locations are more sentimental to him." I nod and start pinning a much larger map to the four corners of the whiteboard and plotting points to where each girl was found.

As it turns out, each girl was found in one of three types of locations. Next to a body of water, outside of a movie theater, or in a park. Three in first, two bodies in the second type, and three in the third type. I believe this means that each of those locations has some significance to the Unsub. It wouldn't be unrealistic to say that his victims represented a girlfriend or wife and that something significant in their relationship happened in each of these locations.

When Emily and Rossi return, they look like the journey was unfruitful.

"It's not him." Emily sighs. "Daniel is a recovering addict who was out getting high at the time of Samantha's murder. By the time her got home, she was still gone and he had no clue where she went."

"But doesn't that mean he has no alibi? He could easily be lying." Emily grabbed for a folder she had brought back with her and retrieved a document from inside and slid it over to Derek.

"That would be a fair point had he not been arrested for disturbance of the public and drug possession. He called her and then his buddy who bailed him out. When she didn't answer, he figured her phone was off or she was mad at him for using again.

"There goes that." JJ said. "So he doesn't remember anything?"

"Nothing. Just a pretty strong dose of heroin and her not being home when he got out of jail." Emily said. "Plus, it was three years ago."

When Derek returned, he had also had no luck of finding anything of use.

"No diary, no notes or anything. Her web history was normal enough. No new numbers on her phone." The room sat in silence for a few seconds, each person interpreting this information differently.

"So what does this do for us now?" JJ asked, looking up at each of us as if we each had our own idea about who the Unsub was. In a way, we probably all did. Rossi stood up.

"This Unsub kills in three specific places, all females who have brown hair and are in their twenties except for the last victim. Whatever happened then we don't know but what we do know is that something made him change. He doesn't know his victims, nor does he want to get to know them. It is estimated that there's only an hour between the time they're kidnapped and the time they're killed."

"They're all killed in different ways. Repeatedly. What this shows us is that the Unsub is never completely satisfied by what he does, so he changes it. This could mean that whoever the brown haired girl represents, whether it's a girlfriend or rejected lover, cannot be killed violently enough in the Unsub's eyes. She did something to him that he perceives is so terrible that he could be trying to exact his revenge, but it's never enough. Or, he could be doing this for sexual release. He gets off on the idea of someone in pain. Whether the brown hair makes the victims a proxy in this last one or whether it's just a preference is yet to be found. That's something we need to determine." Derek said, looking at the floor, lost in his own thoughts.

By this time, it was verging on eleven o'clock at night. Everyone else left around then. I decided to stay for a half hour and read the rest of the files to try and get a full understanding of everything this guy has done in the last three years. When I finished, I headed back to my hotel room and wrote you this letter. Don't worry, mom. It's only 12:45. I'll get some sleep as soon as I'm done writing this and I can drop it off at the post office tomorrow.

It's almost funny, mom. We spend our everyday lives doing this, going around and trying so solve murders and catch the people who do them and we aren't phased. We can't be or it would get in the way. These girls have gone through some of the most painful things I've ever seen and yet I don't grimace and look away when I see the photos of their bodies. I can't even call the all of the men who do this monsters, because not all of them are. Not all of them really know what they're doing. How do you look at a man as big as an ox with the mind of a five year old and tell him he's a monster? It's a concept that even I struggle to deal with every day.

I hope you're well. I hope you're being cooperative with the nurses and that they are being cooperative with you. Did you get the book I sent you? You had me read it when I was in high school. I read it again recently and I thought you'd enjoy reading it again, too. 'The Illustrated Man' is one of my favorite things written by Ray Bradbury. Even Fahrenheit 451, although I know you may like other authors more. I still thought you'd enjoy this book.

I love you forever and ever and always,

Spencer.

Charlotte's P.O.V.  
The room is cold and the seats are really uncomfortable and I hate this so much I could scream.

After following a bunch of signs that made getting to this room seem like an accomplishment in itself, I walk into a room that looks like it was meant for familes to sit in after they find out their relative in hospice has died. There are a couple other people in that room. Most of them are guys, although I legitimately can't tell with some of them. They all look younger than I am. I feel like that old woman who never got a college degree because she had kids at 18 and now at the age of 67 I go back to college to get a degree. Or maybe that kid in seventh grade who had been in seventh grade like, five or six times. I sit down in a seat that has nobody on either side. I recognize some people in the room from the Air Force academy. The ones who showed up on the first day and then quit the second. I have a feeling they will, but I hope they don't recognize me. That's just one more thing I don't need to fret about today.

I'm the first one sent in there, so I guess that's a plus. They must be doing this by first name in alphabetical order, and I'm glad. If they had gone by last name, there's a good chance I would have to sit through everyone else's interviews before mine own. And considering I didn't bring anything to do, someone might have been inclined to actually talk to me.

The woman inside the office is older and blonde, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looks very stern. Like she would have a thing for protocol. Her office suggests the same. It's very professional looking with accomplishments hung on the wall. I only see one personal picture on her desk, but I have no clue what it is. I can't see it. Definitely would not be a fan of my Chewbacca key chain.

"My name is Erin Strauss, Head of the BAU. Sit down." She tells me, taking a seat in her office chair. I sit, keeping an iron grip on my purse. I can do this.

"So, Miss Wills. I see you have a few years from the US Aviation academy under your belt, and also a decent amount of time at the Air Force Academy. I'm assuming you've had your fair share of hours flying a plane?" She looks at my resume and then back up at me.

"Uh, yes. Yes. I studied communications and engineering at Tulane University, but I went on to get my pilot license from the US aviation academy. And from there I went to the Air Force." I say, trying to sound as confident as possible. I'm tense now. She's going to ask why a certified pilot got kicked out of the Air Force and why I'm applying for a job as a traffic control tech and I don't know how I'm going to come back from that.

"Do you know why you were kicked out of the Air Force academy exactly, Miss Wills?" Here we go. I have to be honest, but I feel like honestly right now is going to sound worse than the truth.

"Not the exact reason. I was told that I wasn't up to standard in testing, but they didn't give me a specific way I was not up to standard." She starts nodding slowly.

"And if you had to guess?" Originally, I would have guessed that nothing was wrong, but to say that sounds like admitting ignorance to your own faults. I can think of some things that irritated my teachers, one thing in particular.

"I was occasionally hesitant in emergency drills. I was hesitant because I was nervous of hitting the wrong button and I wanted to make sure I was doing things right. The pressure was a bit much for me, I guess."

"I see," She hums, still scanning my sheet in her hands. "I have to say Miss Wills, You are incredibly overqualified for this job, so I have to ask. Why this job? Why couldn't you become a commercial airline pilot? That surely pays more than an Air Traffic Tech." I take a moment to formulate my response, even if I already know what my response is.

"Well, I don't just want to fly all around the world. That sounds nice, but I wanted a job where I could fly somewhere and know good things were happening. I wanted to pilot Air Force One when I was little for the exact same reason." I added the 'When I was little' so I wouldn't sound like some idiot who thought they could do something great without a backup plan.

"That is very admirable of you. You would want your flying to serve a purpose out there," I loosened. She understands. Now that those questions are over, I hope I can get to the regular interview questions. The ones I actually feel prepared for.

"Well, Miss Wills, I would love to continue this interview, but unfortunately, I feel that I can't give you this job." Two shots straight through my chest. I can't breathe. Years and years of college training and years and years of piloting to be refused a job as a tech? What is wrong with me? She says something I couldn't decipher in my own private panic, so I ask her to repeat what she said again, my face showing no signs of my internal destruction.

"I said you would be much more fit for a piloting job here. We actually have a spot that just opened. If you wouldn't mind, we can schedule you another interview for that job and then a test flight to make sure your piloting is up to shape. Don't worry though. We don't do emergency drills here. Would you be okay with that?" She asks. My mind and body feel like I was just dropped from ten thousand feet up and then caught the instant before I hit the ground. I'm shocked. I stammer out a few words that I can only hope are coherent enough for her to understand. I add on a few extra words of thanks and head out the door. I look at all of the sad people in the sad waiting room and think about how not twenty minutes ago, I was one of them. Not that I'm belittling them, but I was belittling myself for being with them.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still angry and upset about being the person who sacrificed everything for her dreams. But now I have the potential to be the person who sacrificed everything for her dreams _with a salary._ And if that means hot water, it's a step in the right direction.


	5. Let Me Get What I Want- Elefant

_Haven't had a dream in a long time  
see, the life I've had  
can make a good man bad  
So for once in my life  
let me get what I want  
Lord knows it would be the first time_

Hotchner's P.O.V.

The light bulb above me is flickering the words already gathered on the page getting harder and harder to read as it dies. I send down a cue to maintenance, but I doubt they'll get it. I wish it had been dying while they were here wiring all calls to Erin's office to my own only to be undone within a week. All I'm in charge of today is handling calls that would normally go to Strauss. I'm not even allowed to act upon these calls. I'm forced to repeat the same mantra. "She's not here. I'm acting SSA Aaron Hotchner, currently Head of the BAU while Miss Strauss is out. Would you mind leaving a message for her?" Technically, I could make decisions, but by the time Strauss got back, she'd have my head on a platter, even for the most mundane of decisions. So I just keep watch over the organization like a German Shepard.

I didn't have to do this before, just recently. I think it's just Erin trying to make herself look good to the executives so nobody considers retiring her or anything. All of a sudden, she's just been all about the reform of the system. Getting her hands dirty and acting like she really cares about the bottom latter of the BAU. She's sticking her nose where it shouldn't be, even doing other people's jobs. She's normally the head of acting profilers, although she is the head of the whole department. What I mean, is that she's trying to act like the top dog over all aspects of the BAU, from the liaisons to the lower rung paper pushers to, from what I've heard, the flight crews. The bottom line is that I shouldn't be here now, I should be helping my team or I should be at home. Somewhere where I'm needed.

Speaking of home, I've just finished my paperwork. I have nothing to do except for the most mundane work left, the stuff that I've left slip to the bottom that's only normally saved for the end of the year. Before I can get it out, my phone starts to ring. My cell, not my work one. The number belongs to Jessica, Haley's sister. I answer.

"Aaron Hotchner?" Not that I try being impersonal with her calls, I just normally answer my phone that way.

"Daddy!" I hear over the phone. It's Jack. He sounds happy, I can practically hear the smile on his face. In fact, even from over the phone, he plastered one on mine.

"Hey buddy! How are you doing?" I ask. It's a Saturday, so he was off school today. Jessica offered to watch him. He liked his aunt, but he really wanted to spend time with me on weekends.

"I'm really good, daddy! Hey, Daddy, are you home tonight?" An odd question, like it had a follow up if I were to answer one way or another.

"I am, Jack. Why is that? Do you have any ideas in mind?" I can hear his little gasp of hope.

"Yes! Yes! Aunt Jessie and I were taking a walk and we saw a sign for the biggest corn maze! It's open tonight and can we go, daddy? They have tractors and cows and pigs there, too! It says only the smartest can make it through the maze and you and I are the smartest! You don't have to work late, right?" My heart melts a little bit. I'm away so much and Jack always forgives me. I don't even have to ask him to forgive me. He knows that I have to help people, and he's so proud that I do so. He's very proud of me, but there's no way on this earth that he's more proud of me than I am of him.

"Hmm." I hum, trying to sound serious, still. "Do you know what I think of that idea?"

"What do you think?" He asks, suspense thick in his little voice.

"It's awesome. Have Aunt Jessie pick out something for you to wear and eat something before we go. I'll be home at six."

"You got it dadd- Oh. Hi, Aunt Jessie." I hear some mumbled conversation over the line. It sounds something like 'Jack, do you have my phone?' 'No, Aunt Jessie.' 'But Jack, it's in your hand.' 'Oh, well... I thought I could use it.' Now, I hear the phone change hands, and I assume Jessica has it now.

"Sorry about that, Aaron. Jack must have taken my phone without me seeing. I was just fixing up some lunch. He asked to call you two or three times to ask about this corn maze and I told him he'd have to wait for you to come home." Jessica says, frustrated, but amused at the same time.

"Looks like he took matters into his own hands." I laugh. "It's fine. Today is one of the slower days. I actually needed that. I told him we could go, so if you could pick out some clothes for him to wear tonight, I'd appreciate it."

"No problem, Aaron. Have a good day."

"I will." I go to hang up the phone when I hear something.

"Oh, uh, wait! Wait!" She says.

"Yes?"

"Jack wants to say goodbye." I hear the phone change hands once again and Jack's voice comes through the phone again.

"Bye daddy! I love you!"

"I love you too, champ."

The line cuts out, and I'm left with the low, annoying hum of a phone with nobody on the other end. I put my phone back in my pocket return to more paperwork. Like I said, mostly follow up things that don't take much time to do. I do this for a while, signing my name on things and putting them back into their correct file by the letter. Towards the end of the day, as I'm packing my things to go home, Strauss enters my office. She smiles at me, professionally. Like seeing a close colleague at the end of the day. That's what it would look like to most people, but for some reason, all I can see is a smugness that can't be smothered.

"Hello, Agent Hotchner. I assume you had no trouble holding down the fort while I was away." She says, her eyes tracing the work on my desk.

"Not at all. Though I suppose I'd rather be out in the field, doing this for a week is no burden." Erin nods her head and turns toward the door, but she stops and turns around, like she remembered something.

"That's nice to hear, because I have one or two follow-up interviews set for Monday and Tuesday of next week. Now, while you won't have to do this for the entire day both days next week, you will have to for certain bits of them." I nod and act like this doesn't bug me, but I would rather do anything else.

"Does this restrict my flying status for those two days as well?" I ask, as if merely out of curiosity. If I could take calls for Erin while on assignment with my team, it wouldn't be nearly as bad.

"For those two days, yes, just as a precaution in case something would happen while I was busy that would require your presence." I nod my head and continue packing my things for the day.

"That won't be an issue, will it?" She asks, like it wouldn't bother her even if it was an issue. The final item I need picked up is picked up. I grab my briefcase and pass her on my way out the door. Before I leave, I turn around and reply.

"No, not at all."

Spencer's P.O.V.

To Diana Reid  
Vegas Regional Mental Health Care Institution  
157 Cresthill Rd. Las Vegas, NV

Dear Mom,

The adventure continues today. So using the information, we tried searching for any murders like the first one to see if the first one wasn't the first one, adhering to the amount of time it would have taken to cool off. Of any of the girls who were murdered in that time frame, however, weren't within the age range or physical description.

With the possible murder fast approaching, Prentiss and Morgan were looking at a timeline of where the girls were found to see if they could predict where the next body was found, and if so, which would it be in Seattle? The first two murders were by a body of water, then one by a movie theatre, two by the park, another by the theatre, then park, then park, then theatre and then the last two are by the water. This leads to something somewhat strange. The third murder left her by a movie theatre, but she still drowned.

"But where was the water from?" Emily asked. "Is it in the autopsy? Was she wet when they found her?" I reached for the autopsy report and read it.

"There's nothing of note here. The Medical Examiner dismisses it as the girl drowning in a different area and being dragged to this location. The pictures of her at the crime scene depict her as perfectly dry. Her hair isn't even wet." Emily walked over and inspected the pictures behind me. Morgan followed her.

"It looks like it's even been brushed." Morgan said, taking one of the pictures out of my hand and comparing them to the crime scene photos of past victims. While they were in water, they still had their hair pulled back behind them, tucked underneath their shirts.

"Is this a sign of regret?" Prentiss asked,

"I don't know about that," Morgan reasoned, setting out all of the pictures of the girls at the crime scenes. "If this was a sign of regret, why didn't all of them have their hair pulled back and brushed? These ones," He gestured to most of the victims in the middle. "Don't."

"He could just be feeling sympathy for the ones who acted out some sort of fantasy he could have forced them to do." I said, studying all of the girls and the condition they were found in.

"I don't think that's true, either. If it were, the ones with hair brushed wouldn't have as heavy defensive wounds, or the ones without brushed hair would be much worse. On most of these, the defensive wounds are the same, or completely random." He sat back down and retrieved a file out of the box.

"Now that I look at all of the ways the bodies were found, it all seems kind of erratic. One some of them, the skin has been meticulously cleaned, and then some of them haven't been cleaned at all. I would say it's just a disorganized killer, but it's almost like he's following a formula. There are too many similar variables in each murder for this just to be someone killing in a paranoid panic. He has all of the variables he thinks he needs." I say, my gaze at the evidence on the table unwavering.

"He's just trying to find the right equation," Prentiss asks. "But for what?"  
"That's what we need to find out." Morgan says. "Okay, first, we need to find out where he's drowning his victims. Prentiss, go down to the county coroner's and see if they can do a tox screen of the lungs of every drowned victim and see where each of them were drowned. Reid, you stay here and check the murder methods and places for patterns or something.

"Morgan?" I ask. "I've been doing that for the past twenty-four hours. There's gotta be something more I can do besides that." I know what he's doing. I know that he's trying to keep as close an eye on me as he can, ever since I let him drive me home. I wish I had cleaned before I left. He probably saw my clothes on the floor and started assuming that I was stressed out or something. Not that that would be wrong, Mom. I've been more stressed out than usual. Just little things. Don't worry about it. It's in the job description.

"I want you to go over it again keeping in mind what variables he kept through multiple murders and tell me what you think he was trying to achieve. Okay? Keep in mind what it would mean if he kept a certain aspect for more than two murders."

"Are you sure I can't help Emily or do something else other than what I've been doing?" I ask.

"Don't argue with me, okay? Just try to draw some connections." I nod and continue my work, even though I am by no means happy. I continued that for the whole day until some of the other kin to the victims came in and told us how they remember the nights their daughters went missing. Most remember it like the others. Some claim not to remember because of it all happening so fast. The majority remember being in some form of contact with their daughters the day before they went missing and then not being able to contact them the day after. Most of the parents lived close to their daughters. The ones that knew their daughters' weren't working and it wasn't like them to not answer went to their phones, even after they called several times, went to their houses and discovered they had been broken into or that their girls were simply not there.

A bit of them that either didn't live near or wouldn't be surprised if their daughter lost her phone only found out their daughter had gone missing once the bodies were found. That seemed to have the most emotional impact on the parents. The ones who only found out their children were dead once someone called them seemed the most broken, even though it had been years since the murder. It was really unsettling, and I can only be proud that I'm human enough to say that I hated that more than going over the same details again. It was heartbreaking listening to them. I could only imagine what they had to go through, and even though I have an incredibly strong imagination, I feel like I still couldn't imagine it accurately enough. And I didn't even listen to them all. Rossi was the one talking with most of the families.

After that, we gathered everyone in the central room to share what they found and to construct a gameplan for the possible and likely murder within the next few days.  
"I went to the coroner and asked for a tox screen of all of the lungs from the victims this morning. I asked this morning and told her to fax the results to Garcia. Garcia just forwarded it to me and I found something interesting. The victims, all of them but one, were drowned in a swimming pool. The coroner found traces of chlorine in each of the drowned victims' lungs but the first one. The first one was drowned in water that matched the water she was found in. I froze. That would actually make sense.

"Really? all of them?" I ask

"All of the ones that were drowned anyway, yeah." Emily replies.

"Reid? Do you have something that links with that?" Morgan asks

"Maybe. I was looking at each of the aspects of the murders as variables in an equation, and I came across a few consistencies."

"What are they?"

"Well, I've noticed that no matter what, his victim is always a girl in her twenties with some form of brown hair. That might seem obvious, but I don't think it's a sexual preference. Or, if it is, it's a preference for a specific person. The more passionate the murders get makes me think that he's becoming more and more unrelentingly angry to whatever this person represents. Method-wise, these murders seem incredibly personal. However, if all but the first one found were drowned in a pool-"

"That means that the unsub would be uncomfortable with exactly recreating the murder itself in public and recreates them in a controlled space where he doesn't have to worry about people seeing him doing his work." Derek concluded

"So however the unsub does it, this means that he has some sort of method for disposing the bodies and not getting caught, and him putting the bodies on display is his way of rubbing that in. It makes him seem more skilled and clever than he actually is." Rossi added.

"Did we know anyone who knew the first victim intimately besides her boyfriend?"

"Actually, it might be wise not to exclude him. Just because he has an alibi doesn't mean that he didn't have a hand in the murder." I added, the wheels in my head turning faster than my mouth went."

"Reid, you know that means you're saying that it's possible to have multiple unsubs in this case, right?"

"It wouldn't be shocking. One could be in it for the personal reasons. He would be the one who is the brawn. When he has the reins, he makes it as brutal as possible. The other would be the brains. The one smart enough to know how to not get caught despite having a pretty specific M/O. He'd be in it for the sexual gratification."

"I don't know, Reid. It's possible, but I don't think so. I mean, don't you think the second one would have some sort of preference for how the woman is killed? And wouldn't the first one want to be there during the murder even though he had an alibi. I don't see how he could have been the original killer."

"Maybe." I say, still thinking. Now I'm pouring over the files again, making connections and trying to look at it from a different angle.

"Could he be killing for money? I know it says here that all of her life insurance money goes to her boyfriend. Maybe he wanted direct access to it?" Derek shook his head again.

"If he killed for money, why would he keep killing people who look like his girlfriend? There's no point. Like I said, I think there is very little chance that he's the unsub."

"Emily, you go back to the boyfriend, since he's the only lead we have as to who Samantha Frock would have hung out with. Be careful, but this guy, as far as we know, is just a junkie. Go in there cautious, but keep your gun holstered. Ask him about who Sam hung out with, if there were any hobbies she partook in with other people, any way she may have made enemies of other people. Remember, the killer is going to kill soon, we have lives on the line." Derek reminded her.

"Got it. I'll call you when I get there." She says.

I'm still looking over the files forty-five minutes later. Emily still hadn't called. The house she needed to go to was a ways away, so we weren't expecting something.

And then, it hit.

It all clicked, like a jigsaw puzzle.

Samantha Frock's boyfriend was a heroin addict. He got high all the time. It was likely he stayed with Samantha because she gave him money for food and clothes and he would always spend it on heroin. Sam was his sustenance. Samantha was what kept him high and alive. Samantha wasn't into drugs, though. She was into running and yoga and energy drinks. What if she didn't want to provide for him anymore? What would he do? Well, after being there for so long, they shared everything. A bank account, a house. Sam just owned everything and didn't give her boyfriend the passwords. She didn't have anyone else besides him, either. His name was in her life insurance, even. He had told Emily that he was only trusted with the money she gave him for money and food.

That night, Sam tried to break up with him.

That night, he said no.

That night, he found a new high.

And he acts like it would be easy to fake an alibi. He could have killed her the night before, stored her somewhere, reported her missing after he actually went out and got high and had a friend or someone else hide it.

His craving was getting more urgent.

The thing with heroin users is that they are always trying to recreate their first high, because it's always the best.

The variables

The equation.

It was the equation for the best high. He used aspects from past murders that he thought would work so he could feel that feeling again.

He was getting more desperate

He was straying from the M/O.

He would do anything for the high, and Emily was going to his house as I pieced everything together.

"Rossi! Derek! Call Prentiss and tell her to stay away from the house. As far away from the house as she can!" This is redundant, because I'm typing her number on my phone as I say this.

"What? What is it, Spencer? Did you find something new?"

"The boyfriend. He's an addict trying to find the high of his first kill and then he inherited all of Samantha's money because of who her life insurance is made out to. It's him and he's going to kill again and we need to call Emily right now!"

"What?" Derek asks again.

"Read this!" I shout, giving him the files in which I pieced everything together. Emily doesn't answer.

"Oh, god. We need to head over, right now."

We all headed into one of the Sedans and started speeding along the highway, repeatedly calling Emily, even though she doesn't answer. We don't know if there's no service there or not, but we keep calling anyway, hoping she'll pick up.

The silence is agonizing. It makes me want to pull my hair out and scream at the top of my lungs, even though we're in an enclosed space because if Emily dies, it's on me. It's my fault. We'll have lost yet another member of our team and it would be all on me because I couldn't think fast enough.

When we're fifteen minutes away, we get a call from Emily. at first, it's just heavy breathing, but then her voice comes in over the phone.

"Guys? I need backup and a medic."

"Emily, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Can't say the same for the other guy. He's dead."

"How are you? Are you hurt?" Derek asked over the speakerphone.

"I've got a few cracked ribs, but I'll live. You know what? Can you just call in backup and drive me to the hospital yourself? Call in backup to take care of the body and the evidence, " Derek smiles, his eyes sparkling as they watch the road.

"I think we're still going to call an ambulance, but we'll see what we can do. You just hang in there and we'll be there in a minute."

In all honestly, this wasn't one of our best cases. I should have been faster and I should have. Emily didn't mind. She says as far as we were concerned, it means we know that it was him and that he won't kill again. I just... it drives me crazy sometimes. What if the killer had a gun instead of a baseball bat? What if Emily hadn't seen him throwing things around the house before she went in with her gun drawn? What if he was more stealthy and I was even less competent than I was today? It's things like this that I don't want to think about, mom. I feel like each time I'm too slow or each time I mess up and yet nothing happens, it's just one step closer to not being saved by happenstance...

Sorry if I seem to be getting more off topic or off track. I just woke up on the plane. It was a nightmare, but at least it gave me time to send you this letter. The nightmare was what made me think about the 'ifs', because in this nightmare, I ran out of them, and so did Emily.

I got your Halloween card, by the way. Thank you so much. I don't understand why more people don't celebrate it. I think I'm going to buy a pumpkin this year for outside of my apartment. Like the ones we used to carve. I think I'll even stick with the traditions we used to follow. The size, the themes. I'll send you some pictures when I'm done, and I'm sure you'll send me some Poe art typography like you always do. It's little things like this I like to cling to to remind myself that I'm human, and so is everyone else. We celebrate Halloween to talk of monsters that couldn't possibly be real in anywhere else, because no one wants to recognize the real ones.

I'll love you forever and ever and always,

Spencer

**Hey Guys! Thank you so much for reading Birdsong. I know I haven't updated in a long time, but I hope to start regulating updates between school and other activities. I apologize if the murder aspect wasn't as good as it is on the show. It's my first time writing it, and it can get really confusing. Remember to Comment and tell me what you think of the story so far!**

 **-Sarah**


	6. To Be Friends- The White Stripes

_Tonight I'll dream while I'm in bed_

 _when silly thoughts go through my head_

 _about the bugs and alphabet_

 _and when I wake tomorrow I'll bet_

 _that you and I will walk together again_

 _I can tell that we are gonna be friends_

Spencer's P.O.V.

It's incredibly late by the time I get up on the maybe it's really early. Whichever it would be perceived as, my brain registers the time as approximately 12 A.M. Seattle time, since I was used to the Seattle time zone. I woke up from some pretty vivid dreams, but I try not to think about them. Especially because it only added to the list of things I didn't want to think about. It was about the exact same subject, actually. I know I shouldn't worry about it, because it's fine and Emily isn't dead and I know it won't happen again, except for the fact that I don't. I don't know. This type of situation could happen again and there wouldn't be a single thing keeping it from happening. Think about that for the rest of the ride would make this last forever, so I do the only thing that will keep me from doing so. I distract myself. I finish another letter to my mom and play a few dozen rounds of chess against myself, watching the amount of sun change as we fly over the country. I wonder if Rossi's pilot friend is driving us home or if the BAU switches out pilots between trips. I've never thought to ask, but it's such an irrelevant thing, I don't think I ever will. Hours pass, about three of them, actually, before anyone else is up. When Derek's up, it's about 5 A.M. D.C. time. My brain feels like it's 2 O'clock.

"Reid? How long have you been up?" He asks.

"Oh, I don't know," I say. "Maybe one. One and a half? Not long." He doesn't seem very convinced. I was never very good at lying .

"Right. How long until we land?"

"Uh, I don't know. An hour, maybe?"

"Okay. Do you wanna try to get some more sleep before we land?"

"What? No, I'm fine. If I feel tired when I get off on the plane, I can just take the day off. I have tomorrow and the next day off, which I guess actually means today and tomorrow, and not tomorrow and today. Either or, I can catch up on whatever sleep I lose tomorrow, which is basically none since I only woke up about an hour ag-."

"It's fine, Reid. I get it. Enjoy your day off, alright? You need it." I smile and nod. Derek nods his head once in return and goes to the back of the plane to make what I'm assuming is coffee. He offers it to me at one point, but I decline. It's not like I actually plan on sleeping when I get home, but I"m just not in the mood for coffee right now.

One by one, the members of the team awake and get their things gathered. I grab my suitcase and pull it over to where I'm sitting. The rest of the team begins to talk to each other idly as we await out landing. I like to watch the ground as the plane lands, and feel the plane hitting the ground.

There aren't many other planes getting ready to fly as we land, just one plane in the neighboring runway that takes off just as we land.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

You know, the closer I get to actually getting a job, the easier this whole 'morning' thing gets. I actually woke up a half hour early so I could jog a mile and shower, and then proceed to get ready. I haven't went jogging since it was a requirement. Needless to say, today wasn't my fastest mile. But it's fine. I'm getting back on track, and at least I'm exercising at all.

By four-thirty, I'm sitting on my couch, completely showered, dried, and dressed. I don't even really know what to do, since I figured picking an outfit would be harder than it was in the end. Sadly, it is only fifteen minutes before I have to leave that I realize that I haven't flown a plane in… a long time. A decently long time. I'm thinking about bringing a manual with me on the subway so I don't freak out during the test flight. I just can't remember where I held it. I'm on my way out when I grab my Chewbacca keychain, something I was sure I wasn't going to need up until now. I hope for my life as I head out the door, shoving the keychain in my purse, that the plane controls aren't that different from the ones I'm used to flying.

When I get to the BAU, I look at a map first to see if I can find the exact room I'm looking for. I swear, If I'm late for this interview, I'll scream. Luckily, I find it with minutes to spare. I take a deep breath and enter the room like I have absolutely every idea what I'm doing.

"Miss Wills." Strauss says. "Board, this is Charlotte Wills. She applied for a tech job in the aviation unit until I found out she is a certified and trained pilot from one of the best flight schools in America." I feel like I should be proud of what she's saying, but all I feel is how much I want her to stop talking about that. I feel like that's all they see me as. It's what I want and not at the same time. At one point, I feel like I'm just giving a picture of me at my best angle, but I want them to know the truth. That I was kicked out of the Academy and that it was this job or commercial piloting for me. Surprisingly, Strauss doesn't mention it. This interview is actually much less of what I thought it would be. It's all of the typical interview questions that I should actually expect.

"Why do you think you're a good candidate for the job?"

"Where in your class did you graduate?"

"What are your strengths?"

Strauss asks most of the questions, but occasionally one of the members of the board will stop scribbling on their board and speak up. I give them my answers with growing and growing confidence until the interview itself is over. The interview only took about a half hour, leaving me pleasantly surprised. Towards the end, when Strauss was just giving me the ending spiel about where I was headed next and when I would get the information on if I had gotten the job or not.

"We'll give you a call when we have our verdict. Now, this is Captain Shonda Pierce of the BAU Aviation team. She's going to be the one asking you more technical questions about your flight experience. She will also be your supervisor on your flight examination. I smiled and nodded my head, trying to forget how long it's been since I had actually heard the words 'flight examination.' Shonda looks at me and smiles.

"Pleased to mee'cha. Follow me and we'll get you wheels down and ready to go." She turned around and started walking at a fast pace. I followed suit.

Shonda was very different from Agent Strauss. Shonda was in her thirties, with Sepia skin and short, dark curls. They reminded me of something my grandmother would do with her hair, but on Shonda, it just made her look… powerful and competent. Like a 21st century Amelia Earhart. She takes long, confident strides and walks while she talks.

"So, we are on our way to the aviation teams' center of command. It's pretty early, so you won't have to worry about waiting in any sort of line to take off. Those who work here call it 'The Nest.' Around here, I'm known as Cap, Captain, or 'Momma Bird.' Of course, you won't ever hear Strauss call me that last one." She laughs, and I laugh with her. Her nose crinkles when she laughs and her laugh is very quick and chirpy. To say I feel more comfortable around her is an understatement.

There are few people in the command center. One or two standing at computer monitors, booting them up and setting up the programming. Those are the techies. Thank god that's not me. I gulp. I hope that didn't just jinx me.

We'll be taking a G550, so that will give you a vague idea of what size aircraft you'll be flying." I can't even really hear the rest of what she says, because I'm too busy trying to remember if I should be okay with that.

By the time she has the stairs down and we're both in the cockpit, I see that the interior itself resembles nothing I have flown before. It's all very… luxurious. Meant for only a few people. I kind of like it.

The cockpit itself is fine. I take a hidden sigh of relief as I can now look at the controls and see that nothing is inherently too different from what I learned at the Aviation Academy. I just hope I can keep the relief up until the test actually begins.

"Alright, so as the test goes on, I'll give you a set of commands and directions for you to follow. Nothing too fancy, just a general competency test.

"Great." I smile. I feel absolutely fantastic up until my body lands in the seat.

"Feel free to adjust it if you need to." Shonda says from the copilot's seat.

"Sure." I move it around a little bit until I feel comfortable, but I'm still scared out of my mind.

"Okay. Now see this Runway on our left? I want you to take this path up there and you'll use that runway for takeoff. Don't worry about anything else. I scheduled your flight earlier so you wouldn't have to worry about many, if any, other planes. Looks like all we got is another jet landing two runways over, but you'll be fine. So, are you ready?"

"Uh, Yeah! Let's get to it." I say. Needless to say, that's not exactly what I'm thinking.

"Great. Let's go."

I take a few deep breaths and start maneuvering the plane. I make a few turns and begin gaining speed just as we're getting to where we need to be. I focus. My hands grasp the controls tighter than they had been and we take off. The plane coming in lands right before we're up in the air. Lucky for them.

Spencer's P.O.V.

On the metro, I realize that I finally do what I've been wanting to do for the last week. Sleep without the presence of an alarm to interrupt it. However, I only realize now that it's Six fifteen in the morning and I have the entire day to go before I can actually sleep. What do I do now that I have it? Chess is always fun, but I played so much of it on the plane, it's kind of lost its appeal for now. I was planning on getting myself a pumpkin for Halloween, and if my memory serves me right (and it always does), there was a pumpkin stand right outside of my apartment. The family that runs it is there almost every season. Tomatoes and cucumbers in the summer, squash, apples, and pumpkins in the fall. They don't charge a lot, either. I'll remember to buy one when I'm back at my apartment. I can't do that now, though.

Before anything, I have to mail this final letter.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

After the plane lands, I feel better. Like how my mom used to be when we were on planes and they landed. It is rather quite unfortunate that the daughter of someone with such a crippling fear of flying became a pilot. Maybe not unfortunate, just ironic. I let out a giant sigh of relief without being obvious, but I think I still was. After we get to a stop and dock in the terminal Shonda told me to go to, I unbuckle and I feel like I can breathe again.

"That was good! You did pretty well." She smiles, going over the clipboard with her eyes.

"Really? Great! Could you tell I was nervous?" I ask, half out of the sake of being honest, and half out of the fact that I feel like I can tell her this.

"Well, maybe a little, but just as much as anyone else would be." I don't know if I should be happy or displeased to hear this. I decide to be happy. She walks me to the exit door and leaves me with an idea of what's going to happen next.

"Now what's gonna happen next, is that I'm gonna have a meeting with the board of my own. I have to act all serious and stern. I'll tell them how you flew, how you treated myself and the plane, which were both fine, by the way. After the meeting, they'll ask me to leave and they'll talk about your own personal interviews and the way in which you flew. That's when they'll decide to hire you. Good luck."

"Thanks Shonda. If I see you, I'll see you. If I don't… uh…" Crap. I shouldn't have said that. That only makes it awkward. I hope she doesn't think I'm awkward now.

"Don't get used to calling me that. Only my family calls me Shonda. Call me Cap next time, okay?" She smiles and winks at me. In this moment, she reminds me of a cool aunt or teacher. Maybe a mix of the two? Either way, she doesn't seem phased by my biff over the English Language.

"You got it. See you, Cap." I smile. I don't know if I should actually be calling her that, but she seemed pleased by it.

"That's better." She says.

"I feel ten times better by the time I get back home. I'm almost dancing to the songs I'm singing in my head. I'm sure all of the people who saw me on my way home were sure I was nuts, just smiling like a maniac. I know I need to get my mail, because I haven't checked it in forever. My mailbox is under lock and key in the lobby of my apartment, so I just need to find the key in my purse and get my mail. My hand doesn't need to go far back in the box to find the mail. It's mostly bills, but there are a few random subscription notices to magazines I've never bought and even a letter from my mom. In all honesty, I think I'll just keep that one unopened until I'm ready to take some bad news. I let my mail sit at the top of the pile of items in my purse as I'm on my way to the elevator. There's a man standing in front of it, trying to hit the 'up button' with his fingers, even though he couldn't let them unravel around the huge pumpkin that was pressed against his chest. His pumpkin seemed three or four times as big around as he was. It was pretty funny, but I don't laugh. I was taught not to laugh at strangers. I run over and press the button for him. He smiles and thanks me. We wait until we're both on the elevator before I say anything. I ask him for his floor and push his button for him. He's a little awkward, continuously adjusting and re-adjusting his pumpkin. He should have gotten a wheelbarrow for the thing.

"So… You're a halloween person, I take it?" He smiles and adjusts his pumpkin again.

"Oh, absolutely. Actually, did you know that people have been making jack-o'-lanterns at Halloween for centuries? The practice originated from an Irish myth about a man nicknamed "Stingy Jack." According to the legend, Stingy Jack invited the Devil to have a drink with him. Unsurprising to his nickname, Stingy Jack didn't want to pay for his drink, so he convinced the Devil to turn himself into a coin that Jack could use to buy their drinks. Once the Devil did it, Jack decided to keep the money and put it into his pocket next to a silver cross pendant, which prevented the Devil from turning back into his original form. Later, Jack freed the Devil, under the condition that he would not bother Jack for one year and that, should Jack die, he would not claim his soul. The next year, Jack again tricked the Devil into climbing into a tree to pick a piece of fruit. While he was up in the tree, Jack carved a sign of the cross into the tree's bark so that the Devil could not come down until the Devil promised Jack not to bother him for ten more years."

"Okay? Really? What happened next?" I ask, full of intrigue. I've always liked Halloween, but that was something I never knew. He himself seemed enthralled by the information he was saying. I always thought watching people talk about what they love was kind of awesome, and this is no exception.

"Well, When Jack died, God didn't want anything to do with him. He didn't want such a vile person in heaven. So, he sent Jack down to be with the Devil, who was still furious with Jack, but refused to go down on his word. He wouldn't let Jack into Hell. He sent Jack off into the night with nothing but a burning coal to light his way. Jack put the coal in a carved out turnip and went on his way. They called him 'Jack of Lantern' which later turned into 'Jack O'Lantern.'"

"Really? Wow. So why was it a turnip in the original story, but we carve pumpkins? I mean, it's not like Turnips are a foreign vegetable here. I've eaten turnips."

"That's actually part of it. So today, we have no problem with getting turnips from the store, but a carvable vegetable that was much more available in America when the tradition came here was the pumpkin. You see, turnips were much more available in Ireland where the legend originated. That changed to pumpkins when it reached America." The elevator dings. It's his floor.

"Oh. Fourth floor. Have fun with your pumpkin. Look out for old Jack!" I say, gesturing towards his pumpkin.

"I will! Have a Happy Halloween…"

"Charlotte. And you?"

"Spencer."

"Happy Halloween, Spencer!" I say, moving my body so he'll be able to see me through the closing elevator doors. It strikes me that I want to be as happy as he is tonight. Maybe I'll order out and stream some Halloween Movies. I've never been one for scary movies, so it'll be something more like the campy stuff I watched when I was a kid. Or maybe I'll break out some fall music and have a little solo dance party on my own. Ya know, celebrate.

Spencer's P.O.V.

I smile at the woman who helped me push the buttons on the elevator. It's been a while since anyone actually listened to one of my tangents. It felt good to actually go on one without being interrupted. I make it all the way to my apartment door when I realize that I have to find a way to unlock and open my apartment door without setting the pumpkin down. It was hard enough to pick up in the first place, that I feel like if I set it down, I won't be able to pick it back up. This might end up being a problem.


	7. Tubthumping- Chumbawumba

Charlotte's P.O.V.

Have you ever just had the best week? I did.

Sorry to sound blunt or braggy, but I don't have to worry about the job hunt anymore. I got a call over the weekend with news that I got the job and I needed to start on the following Monday. It would be mostly introductory stuff, and that I probably wouldn't be flying for a bit, but that didn't matter to me. I have a job. I. Have. A. Job.

Screw you, mom.

Screw you, Sloan.

Screw you, me. I did it and everyone who thought I couldn't do otherwise can watch and weep because here I am.

You know, it's actually kind of funny when you were so down at one point that the biggest highlight of your month is 'Yay, now I won't be homeless.' But it is a highlight after all. It's Sunday now, and I have triple checked all of the things I need for tomorrow. I assume that if the BAU uses uniforms, that they will have one for me when I get there. However, Business clothes never hurt a girl on her first day.

The elevator is broken today. There was word of some kids wreaking havoc on Halloween, shutting down the elevator and using a knife to pry off all of the buttons. They were all wearing masks, so it's not like anyone was caught. I guess it's not the worst thing that could happen on Halloween, but seriously? Why is that something that you consciously think 'Oh hey. You see this? This is exactly what I want to do with my time right now. This is where it's at.' I've never understood that. The stairs aren't awful, but I'm on the fifth floor. Granted, in a building with twelve of them, number five is a good place to be. The stairs are empty and noise travels down them like water down a cliff. Before I had time to appreciate it, however, my shoe hits the first step and shoots out like it was a skateboard instead of a step. Damned kids. There's something on the step I can only describe as being liquid anti-friction. It's slippery and wet and clear, and whatever it is, there is a ton of it. I go flying down over each step, which has an equal amount of slippery solution on each step. I stand up, making sure I'm not covered. Miraculously, I'm pretty okay. I have a bit on my sleeve, but I can wipe it off and it can dry before I'm at work. The inside of my mouth tastes funny. I wipe off a small part from the place it gathered on my arm and smell it. Of course. Vegetable Oil. I gather myself and take a deep breath before heading down the rest of the stairs with utmost caution. I can't tell if all of the other flights of stairs have oil on them or not. I'm too busy messing with the inside of my mouth to make sure I didn't break anything. I think I just hit it on the stairs, nothing broken.

That little incident set the mood for practically the whole morning. I was so scared that I was going to miss my subway that I ran, and by the time I got there, I was ten minutes early. My jacket may have been very stylish, but I couldn't keep warm in the freezing subway draft. The entire morning felt off as soon as that happened. Until I got to my new place of employment, everything felt like a new plague. The smell on the bus, the oil, the fact that I'm pretty sure I forgot to lock my house and take my Chewie keys with me, because when I grabbed my purse to see if they were in there, I found them gone. I hoped to god they hadn't fallen out on the stairs, but I only entertained that idea for a small amount of time, because I would have felt them fall out, or at least heard them. I concluded that I left them in my home.

The BAU was emptier than it had been the day I went in previously before. I wasn't surprised. When I got the call saying that I got the job, they had warned me that my starting times were earlier than everyone else and more sporadic than others, too. I would get a text in the early hours of the morning that would tell me if I needed to pack a bag or not. If I didn't get a text, I would just be doing a diagnostics day. They told me I didn't need to worry about getting texts until the end of the first week or possibly the beginning of the second. I guess the fact that I live alone and don't have any nearby family helps me in that aspect. I bet people who do get horribly homesick.

After a few minutes of wandering the eerily empty hallways, trying to find where I think the aviation unit is, I see Shonda, looking around and finding my face. She smiles brightly with teeth whiter than pearls. She trots over to meet me and gives me a big hug, despite only talking to me once before this. She skips the customary greeting as if we've known each other for years.

"What did I tell you? Girl, what did I tell you?! You did it! I knew it. I bet it was the easiest decision they ever made. Let's get to the control room and I can introduce you to the rest of the team."

"Team?" I ask. "How many are there?"

"Don't know." She says. "20? 25? Something along those lines. C'mon! Let's go!" She smiled, and that made me smile. She made me feel like none of my day's previous trifles had existed. She made me feel appreciated, even if she didn't know who I was yet.

We found our way to the Aviation Unit's control room. A murmuring buzz fills the room as a couple dozen workers unhappily mumble to themselves and each other about how the weekend hardly existed from what they remember, and Monday wasn't supposed to come so fast. Shonda shouts over the unhappy gripe.

"Hey everybody! I have our newest recruit here. She is the replacement of Captain Blanly, and she's sure to do a great job of it. This here is Charlotte. she graduated from the US Aviation Academy near the top of her class, and I want her to feel welcome." Some people smile, some don't. Some seem more indifferent than anything. I smile. I think I'll like it here.

Spencer's P.O.V.

I wake up to my alarm today feeling better than I had at the start of the weekend. Over the course of the whole thing, I found time to carve a pumpkin that was pretty elaborate and not only had an air of creepiness, but honored the father of modern horror literature at the same time. I found time to clean up my apartment, and I found time to go through all of my mail and frame my mother's yearly Halloween letter. It's her letter that actually gave me the idea for my pumpkin. I was thinking of carving it like the kids did in the Charlie Brown Halloween special, since that's what I was watching while I carved my pumpkin, but I dismissed it as too simple. I eventually decided to open my mother's letter after ten minutes of no ideas, but that's when I found the perfect idea for my pumpkin's design.

What I found inside the letter was one of the prettiest pieces of typography she's ever made. Dark swoops of eerie cursive writing joining together not unlike the barren branches of fall under an ominous sky gather around the center object: a tiny, almost delicate looking item, sitting in the middle of the page, with a few tubes and valves protruding out. A heart. A human heart. In the haunted writing around it read the last eight words of Edgar Allen Poe's 'A Telltale Heart'

 _It is the beating of his hideous heart_

It was beautiful, and I could tell that she really spent a lot of time on it. On the back read a note from my mom written before she sent it

 _For the one who contains the love of my hideous heart_

 _Mom_

It was beautiful, and I knew right then and there that I should do the same thing with my pumpkin, which was in itself, a blessing and a curse. It was noble and it made me smile at the sight of the finished masterpiece/monstrosity, but it was a very difficult thing to carve with butter knives, spoons, and the occasional corkscrew.

When I was finished, it was dark outside and I could hear nothing but people in the hallway laughing, snickering to each other. I would find out later that it was probably the teenagers who broke the elevator.

This morning though, I feel great. I don't know how long I slept because I don't remember at what time I fell asleep but I can guess that it was a little over a full twelve hours. I remember to take off all articles of my sleepwear before changing into my work clothes. And, because I was proactive the night before and set out everything I needed so I was in no rush, I took my time with choosing a book and even read one before I had to get on the subway. Today, it is not a physics book that will accompany me to work, but my copy of 'Ender's Game.'

I set out to catch my subway early, eyeing the sign that said the elevator was broken and heading towards the stairs. When I get to the landing of the stairs right outside my door, There's something on the ground. I can't really tell what it is until I picked it up. Before then, I just saw a small clump of fur. Once I pick it up, I notice that it is instead a small key chain that looks like Chewbacca from the Star Wars trilogy. When I look back at the stairs behind it, they are all covered in something shiny and slick. The stairs from my floor down aren't. They lack the shine and slipperiness for them to be covered. Maybe someone spilled something or those teens from earlier decided to slick just those stairs. I've never understood practical jokes, mainly because I've been the butt of most of them, but I can't even see how this one makes sense.

The keys attached to the furry little key chain say '5G' and I realize that they belong to my neighbor who used up most of the hot water last month. They have the one directly above me. I decide to be a good Samaritan and put their keys under their welcome mat. I almost take the first step up onto the booby trapped stairs before I realize that it might be a good idea to wait until the end of the day when the landlord has it cleaned. I mention it to the janitor I find in the lobby of the building and he nods and pushes his glasses back, not happy looking in the slightest. He seems young to be a janitor and mumbles something angry as he walks away. I guess I'd be mad too if a bunch of teens made me clean up oil on the stairs during my first week. I can only assume it's his first week.

The subway is just coming as I race down the stairs to catch it, Chewbacca safely stored in my satchel. I catch the bus and start into Ender's game, but I'm most of the way through it by the time the subway ride is over. Reading is a bit harder today because I was on the bumpy subway car.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

The Aviation Unit is weird, and that's all I know so far. Shonda showed me around the Techies, the pilots on a diagnostics day, and she showed me some pilots getting ready to take off, which were pretty seldom, considering that a lot of the flights were aimed to take off early so the teams can get as much done as possible, but the flights may happen later in the day when time change is taken into account. At one point, Shonda shows me her desk, covered in family pictures and cute little trinkets. She says I might get my own if I say awhile, but as for now, I'll probably only get a locker. They're large lockers, though. As she's digging out a paper to show me the normal rotation of certain teams with certain pilots, her watch beeps.

"Oh." She says. "You might wanna plug your ears."

"What?" Now, it's not that I wasn't focusing, or that I didn't really understand (Even though I didn't), but she had that triangle whipped out before I could even get my hands up to my ears. She began shouting at the top of her lungs, and making wild gesticulations with the triangle and metal rod. When she stopped hitting it, I could still hear the triangle.

"Sorry about that. If I don't make a big deal out of it, half of them will miss lunch. Heck, they'd hear me if they got their damn headphones out of their ears. Go get some lunch." I'm beginning to see why everyone calls her 'momma bird.'

There's a courtyard where most of the employees are eating lunch. I didn't pack one, but there's a truck nearby that sells tacos, so I figure that'll do. Once I can get around half of the ingredients that I can't identify, I just order something plain.

I find a table that doesn't have anyone there and is relatively clean and begin eating my meal. It's a beautiful courtyard, with lots of benches and tables full of people eating. I'm assuming some people eat inside, however, judging by the blond woman carrying five or six different bags of takeout. Personally, I'm going to eat outside as much as I can on days like this. D.C. snow is nuts.

You know, I am actually having a nice lunch with no one around. Back at training, nobody ever ate with me, but it doesn't bother me now. It's actually kind of peaceful

BING

A text. Hmm. I wonder wh-

BING

BING

BING

Oh dear god…

I know who's texting me before I even pick up my phone. I actually thought I was lucky. Today was actually a good day until that happened. I don't want to look at it. I really don't. However, if I don't look at it, and just shut the phone off like I want to, he'll keep texting. My data plan will be disintegrated by the time I get home. I open the messages

One reads:

 _Hey Char!_

The next:

 _A little bird told me that you went in for the techie interview!_

And next:

 _Well, did ya get it? I mean, any job for the government is intimidating, but you don't have anything to worry about_

Next:

 _Aw, who am I kidding? You're probably on the job already. How's it hanging, techie?! :DDDDD_

I have absolutely no idea why the last smiley face has five mouths, but I'm not going to asked. I'm determined to keep this conversation as short and to the point as possible

 _That's Captain techie to you. I was given a piloting job._

It's funny, but for some reason, he actually takes a few minutes to reply.

 _Really? That's amazing! I didn't even know they had one open. Way to push yourself!_

In all honesty, I didn't know we had a piloting job open, either. All thoughts come to a screeching halt as I read that last sentence. Push yourself? Push myself?! I was in the same program as him! I graduated fifth in my class! He's acting like it sounded impossible for me to get the job in the first place. I mean, sure. I was nervous. But isn't anyone when they need to get a job or pay the bills? This was my last ditch effort into doing something I loved for a cause I loved. Pushing myself. I'll push him somewhere… Suddenly, the texts continue.

 _Have you celebrated yet?_

 _I mean, the job._

 _Getting the job._

 _I mean, you celebrate everything else alone, so I don't know where the line would be between celebration and just being happy_

What kind of question is that? I honestly don't even know how to respond without enabling his creepy factor, so I just say something else

 _Don't you have a data plan? What's with the multiple messages?_

This one takes ten minutes. And what a beautiful ten minutes those were. I almost thought he forgot about me. I shouldn't have celebrated my escape so soon

 _Oh. Sorry about that! XD lol though. But anyways, what I was saying is that because I doubt you celebrated your new job and you really deserve to, why don't we celebrate it together alone? I mean, not that I'm guilting you or anything, but I AM the person who told you about the job offering. Well, I told you about the techie offer, but you probably wouldn't have heard about the pilot job if I hadn't told you, so you kind of owe it to me, right? I mean, I'm not forcing you. What kind of weirdo would do that? I'm just saying that it was more of a joint effort, and because of a joint effort, it calls for a joint celebration. So?_

In all honesty, I don't even know how much of that I understand. I read it over. And over. Eventually, I come to the conclusion that he's asking me out on a date. And there's the problem. I've always been blunt with the guy. I had to be blunt with everyone just so they'd take me seriously during training. But here's the thing: I unbelievably want to say no. I want to tell him he's a creep and that he had no part in my success, because the only reason I am successful is that I try my hardest even when I'm scared out of my mind. I persevere. However, if I reject him like that, I don't know what will happen. Sloan is pretty high up on the scale, especially the closer he gets to graduating. I just don't know how he will react. Would an adult accept it and move on? Sure. Is Sloan an adult? Technically. But does he always act like one? I don't really think so. Now that I'm gone, who knows what he could pin on me, or say about me now that I'm gone.

 _Thanks for the offer, Sloan. But I've been busy with the new job lately. Putting in extra hours just so I can get a feel for the place._

This one takes the longest to reply. So long, the end of lunch bell rings. I get a text as I'm walking back to the Aviation Unit.

 _Oh. I mean. Okay! Sure! I understand! You want to get some work in so you can prove that even though you were kicked out of your last job opportunity, you're not incompetent. Don't worry, Char, I got you bae. Don't worry! Just text me whenever you know you have free time.I can keep checking up on you in case you need tips or pointers or just to be reminded to look out for free time. :D We could go to the outlook or the local Greek place or maybe bowling! I could show you my ice skating skills and maybe give you some pointers! You will text me when you have free time, right?_

Oh dear god. He's permanently writing essays now. What have I done? I can't let this go on. I've grown used to not seeing him, and being introduced back to his presence makes me feel nauseous. I've had enough of him for one day. I want to say more. 'No, I will not text you. No, I am not your Bae. Don't call me Charlotte.'

 _Yep_

There. It's done. I shut the phone off once it sends and shove it in my purse. I won't be looking at it for the rest of the day. Not until I get home. If I can get _in_ my home.

Spencer's P.O.V.

When I get to work, most of the people aren't there yet. I'm not shocked, it's what I'm used to. I set my things down at my desk and begin reading a paper that I picked up on my way in. Garcia walks by in the little sprite-like manner she always has in the office. And in the mornings. And, now that I think about it, always.

"Hello, my fantastic Dr. Reid!" She chirps, a stack of files cradled in one arm and a cup of coffee held firmly in the other.

"Morning, Garcia." I say. I sip my own coffee and watch as my colleagues begin to file in one by one. First Hotchner, then Emily, then Derek, then Rossi. JJ showed up at some point, but I don't exactly know when.

Hotch eventually calls us in for a meeting to discuss the next case. We collectively end what conversations we were having about our respective weekends and ascend the stairs to see what the new case was.

JJ begins explaining the case "We won't be traveling far for this one, but that doesn't make it any less serious. What we're dealing with is a string of child abduction cases first all thought to be individual incidents. That all changed this morning when all of the families whose children went missing each received a package, every one with an identical note inside." Hotch nods to something that comes up on the big screen and continues.

"They all read that their child has been strapped to a time bomb and hidden in a random area of the city, and if this man is not wired 100,000 dollars from each family by the end of the week, all of the bombs will go off."

"Are the families related in any way?" I ask.

"Not that we know as of now. We are set to speak to each of the families later in the week." Hotch answers, looking coldly at the file in his hands.

"How many families received the note?" I ask. He takes a few moments to answer.

"Four."

I sigh. I hate cases with children. I love them when we solve them and save someone, but I hate getting them. If a day came when we never saw another child abduction case ever again, I would be the happiest man in D.C. Well, maybe besides Hotch. Hotch always has been a little bit uncomfortable during the children abduction cases. Well, ever since Jack came into the world, which is almost as long as I've known him. I make a few notes in my notepad and start skimming over the files. We don't have a plane ride to take, so I'll get as much reading done in as little time as I can before we have to talk to the families. I make a note to write a letter to my mom tonight. That's another thing I hate about children's cases. It means I have to lie to my mother.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

Shonda holds me after work is over for a while so we could talk about the dynamic, what I'll need to know, and when I'll begin flying. She told me when I begin flying, I'll begin flying with one of the elder members of the Aviation Unit. She mentioned someone called Captain Berkeley, but she didn't sound happy to say so. After a quick talk, she sent me on my way and told me to get some sleep. Tomorrow I'd be checking out the planes.

I was kind of happy to get home. The ride home was nice, though. It felt good to be going home with a bunch of other people how had jobs and salaries and whatnot. It reminded me that I also had one of each and… I don't know. At least I'm not a techie. It just kind of hit me that I was no longer unemployed and that this, right here, this was my routine now. I might see these people multiple times in a month. Probably not these exact ones, considering the fact that I had to stay even later than regular Aviation Unit employees did today.

By the time I get home, the happy feeling lasts until I realize that I have to walk up five flights of stairs, at least one of them covered in oil, to get to my apartment. I tread carefully on the first four, but I don't necessarily slow my pace. It is only when I inspect the last flight carefully that I find that it has been cleaned. I start walking up to my apartment, slowly. When I step off the last stair, I know I'm fine. I walk out the stairwell and down the hall. Before I get into my apartment, I find Chewy outside of my door, standing on my welcome mat. All of the keys attached to him are neatly tucked underneath. I smile. With where he's standing on the mat, it almost seems like he's saying "Welcome Home, Charlotte!" In his little Wookie voice. I grab the keys and chuckle.

Thanks bud.

Spencer's P.O.V.

After work, I head home. We're a little closer to finding the unsub, but not much. All we have for leads is a set of companies that worked in tandem with each company that the fathers of the children worked at. Sadly, the list consists of over 20 companies, each with hundreds of employees. There's that, and each of the fathers were on different positions of importance, ranging from accountant to vice president. But, the day is done. I'll go back tomorrow and I'll work extra hard. Now, I need rest. Not to say that I'm not going to work on this as hard as I can, but it's important to take breaks. Thomas Edison took breaks on a cot that he placed in his work space. Me? I write to my mother.

To Diana Reid

Vegas Regional Mental Health Care Institution

157 Cresthill Rd. Las Vegas, NV

Dear Mom,

I apologize if this letter is short. Hotch had us do a lot of boring paperwork kind of stuff today. Mandatory and benign, but altogether unnecessary. I decided to stay after work and get more work done. I hope you're having a good week. I put your typography on the wall and I look at it every day. It really is your best work yet. I had Indian food for lunch today. We had JJ get our lunches and we all ate in a circle. Garia tried feeding everyone sushi, but Derek and I were the only people who would actually try it. Honestly, I think this is something I needed after the last case. That last case was pretty stressful, even for the things that I do. I wish everyone in Vegas Regional that I wish them a Happy Halloween, or at least a happy fall. My pumpkin this year was my largest yet. Like in the beginning of the Charlie Brown Halloween special. Like the ones we used to make. I couldn't stop smiling when I found it. I hope you're reading the book I sent you. The ending is just phenomenal.

I'll love you forever and ever and always,

Spencer.


	8. Moon River- Audrey Hepburn

_Two drifters, off to see the world_

 _There's such a lot of world to see._

Charlotte's P.O.V.

Today is the day. I can't believe it came so fast. I've been waiting for this for ages. I mean, not that these few days down on the ground have been miserable. They haven't. I spent some time getting used to the schedule of the planes and I read up on how to communicate with the techies on the ground, even though I didn't need much of a refresher on that one. They liked me, I think. They laughed at my jokes. Well, I think it was laughing. It's a suspicion of mine that the techies, all of them, are robots.

But anyways, today is the day that I actually get to fly on my own. Well, not on my own per se, but I get to do most of it. I get a copilot, but Cap told me not to count on the copilot too much. Apparently, the only one available isn't too helpful.

"As far as retirement goes, she's the next one out, and she knows it. She could open the door on the plane mid-flight, and there's next to squat anyone can do about it. She essentially has tenure around here. And when she's on the ground, she thinks she owns the place." It felt weird having someone around here who Cap didn't like. I'm guessing she didn't have a hand in hiring this one, not only because she's obviously older than Shonda and has tenure, but because Shonda seems to like everyone around here except for her.

"Remember the Gulfstream? The one you flew for your test flight? You'll be flying that one. Or at least, a model like it. Same model, possibly different plane. You get it."

"Yeah." I say, eyes tired with lack of sleep. I didn't get much sleep last night because I was too excited to fall asleep. I only fell asleep when I put on a record and let the music lift me away from consciousness. Well, that, and after a certain number of days of waking up extra early, just when you think it'll get easier, it gets harder.

"So, where will I be flying?" I ask. She said it wouldn't be too hard, and that she wouldn't let me go a large distance on this one.

"Not too far. It's only Pennsylvania. You're comfortable with that, right?"

"Sure," I said. I'd had to do some more long distant things back in training, but this was the first time I was staying back at wherever my destination was. I had spent hour after hour before I went to bed just packing my bag, making sure I had everything that I would need. I was probably going to fly back without the team I was assigned to and then just come back whenever the case was done if it took too long. Shonda says if it lasts for more than a week or if we get a sudden influx of cases and thus, an increased need of pilots, we would need to come home. I won't worry about that. I may have, how must one put it, overpacked. I didn't know what I would need and I still don't know how long I'll be there. I'm sure knowing what exactly I'll need and use comes with time.

As I'm getting ready, repeatedly checking my uniform, my bag, and my purse to make sure everything is in the right place, Shoda calls me over to her desk for some last minute stuff before I go.

"Okay. This last part is almost initiation for baby birds like you. We need to give you your Birdsong."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's essentially your callsign and your nickname around here. It's what you call yourself and your plane when you're not flying. While you're flying home, if we ask for your Birdsong, you need to use the official FBI callsign format. The official FBI one is just FBJ-'insert last three digits of tail number here'- for you this time, that will be 255. We all have 'unofficial' Birdsongs though. I'm Momma bird. We have Ducky, Icarus, Dragon. Captain Blanly who just left? His was Phoenix. You don't have to think of yours now, but I want it by the end of the month-Christmas at the latest- so I can put it on your locker. If you don't choose one, we will pick one for you. And trust me, you don't want that. Your copilot refused one."

"And her Birdsong is?" I asked with eyebrow raised.

"Crow," she said through clenched teeth. "We didn't know it then, but it fits."

"So the point of a Birdsong is? What's the functionality?" I asked.

"Efficiency. Family. We call each other by our Birdsongs when we're on private lines instead of our FBI callsigns. Like a name on the back of a jersey. It creates a sense of comradery." I nodded, even though it still didn't make much sense to me. This was a work unit, not a sports team. I readied my things for one last time as Shonda helped, like a mother getting her child ready for her first day of kindergarten. Before I finally walked out of the building, I was introduced to Crow, or rather, Captain Wiler.

"Captain Wiler, meet Captain Wills. Captain Wills is our newest pilot, taking place of Captain Blanly." Captain Wiler looks at me, unimpressed.

"Do you know how to fly?"

"Yes."

"Have you flown a plane before?"

"Yes."

"Are you nervous?" I don't exactly know how to answer. I am and I'm also not, but I don't want her to think this is the first time I've done something like this, even if it is.

"No," I say. "Not at all."

"Well then, that's all I need to know. You get first shift." She smiled and went out to climb the stairs to the plane."

"See what I mean?" Shonda asked, "She refuses to respond even when I call other people by anything that is not their 'official name' and yet, she's the least professional out of any of us. You know what? Let's not talk about this. You have fun. Good luck. I know you'll be fine. Keep your head up, remember the controls, and just breathe. So long, Charlotte."

"So long, Cap." I say, smiling. I run outside and pick up my suitcase once I get to the stairs. Halfway up, I decide that I will only pack the essentials next time, for my sanity and my spine's sake. I was told to keep all of my luggage in the baggage holding space in the front, and the team who flew with me would take the spaces closer to their seats. Lifting this bag to my hips was a problem, so I didn't know how easy lifting it above my head and into the compartment would be.

I managed to do it through the span of some minutes with some help from the nearby furniture and lots of cursing under my breath. Once I do, I get a look at the cockpit. Now that I wasn't doing this as a test of any sort and my nerves were at least manageable, I could almost swoon. It's just a bunch of buttons and screens, sure. But it's so well kempt and clean and the colors on the screens were so vibrant. I don't think I want to admit it, but I definitely missed this.

After I get everything situated, I stand just outside of the cockpit. Shonda told me it was customary to welcome the team aboard. I don't know if it is just me that is supposed to do this or if Captain Wiler is supposed to as well, but I'm the only one standing outside of the cockpit. I straighten my tie and make sure my ponytail is tight enough, even though it feels like my hair is slowly being ripped from my head. about five minutes after I start standing there (Which, now that I think about it, is a pretty awkward thing in itself) the team starts climbing the stairs aboard. The one leading them is a man in his forties, with a face that embodied seriousness in the workplace. He walks up to me and smiles, shaking my hand.

"I understand you're the new pilot. I am SSA Hotchner. Captain Blanly was a good friend of one of our team members. I have no doubt you will do the position justice. Welcome to the organization." I smile and shake his hand in return.

"Thank you sir. It is an honor to hold a position here." He nods and turns to put his things on the plane. His team follows suit. They each smile, shake my hand, and a few of them welcome me. I assume that only those ones know I'm new. An older man walks up to me and tells me that Captain Blanly was his friend. He tells me that Blanly was a great man and that it was a shame I never got to meet him. He concludes by telling me that if they were willing to put me in his place, I must be a damn good pilot. I thank him and tell him, just like I told SSA Hotchner, that it was an honor. Behind the older man is someone younger, at the very end of the pack. He's tall, and only when I look at his face do I recognize him. It's elevator guy! From a few weeks ago. I didn't know he worked here. He was holding the pumpkin and talking about the history of the Jack O' Lantern. Wait. Elevator guy. He told me his name. Shit. What if I can't remember his name and he remembers mine? Maybe he won't recognize me. I wore some makeup for my test flight, and I wasn't in uniform. And it was a bit ago. Maybe he won't.

"Charlotte?" He asks.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

"Oh, hey!" I say, hoping that suffices for a greeting.

"It's Spencer. We met on the elevator of our apartment building a few weeks ago"

"Yes, Of course! What a coincidence, right?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Good to see you." His eyes dart past me and into the cockpit and then back to me

"Well, good luck. I'll see you when we land."

"You too" I nod and turn back to the cockpit. My copilot is sitting in her seat on the right, flipping through a magazine. I think about what she said before we got on the plane and decided to address something.

"You know, the flight is only to Pennsylvania. It probably won't even be forty-five minutes. Do we really need shifts, or?"

"Well kid, if you don't think we need them, you can fly us there. You won't mind, right?"

"I guess not. It'll be good practice." I'm being polite, but I know what she's up to. She's not fooling anyone here. I know now that she just doesn't want to do anything. But that's fine. I'd rather do most of the flying myself.

The flight is short, of course. Instead of helping me or staying alert or doing anything even remotely close to her job, Captain Wiler just slept. I don't even know how someone could do that. She hold the position and has no problem with taking zero integrity with it. I focus on my flying and don't think about her. negative thoughts make negative actions. By the time we get to the airport, Wiler is just waking up. She straightens her uniform and fixes her hair before we get off. The Behavioral Analysis team passes us again. We wait for them to leave, bidding each a successful case on their way out. Spencer smiles and waves goodbye. I'm assuming that my flying wasn't terrible. They all seem to have made it in one piece. Once everyone leaves the plane, I park it in the corner of the lot like I was instructed. A car picks us up and takes us to the front of the small airport, where we catch a cab and head to a hotel. It's small, with only about twenty rooms inside. We only have one. There are two beds inside. Captain Wiler walks over to the first one and falls on top of it. You would think after sleeping on the plane, she wouldn't want to sleep here, but I'm pretty sure that's where she is. I sit on my bed and begin unpacking when she actually says something to me.

"Why so much? This is only for a few days, kid. This isn't a month in the Bahamas." I don't want to be rude, so I just grin, laugh it off, and continue.

"I didn't know what I would need. Just sort of a nervousness thing."

"I thought you said you weren't nervous?"

"Well, I mean, not nervous. I just didn't know what I would need."

"So you are nervous?"

"Wait, I mean. Uh…" I didn't know what to say. Time for a subject change.

"So how does this usually go?" She leans back, throwing her hat to the floor and tossing her tie along with it.

"We show up, we stay, we do whatever. We wait for a call. We'll either get a call from the head of the team we were escorting telling us that they'll be ready for pickup in so many hours, or we get a call from Captain Pierce telling us to come home and bring another team to another location."

"Okay, but why aren't we going home now, right after?"

"We normally go larger distances, and they think it's better if we get a break in between flights. Would you take the consecutive flight to Hawaii and back?"

"But aren't the pilots supposed to take shifts."

"Okay. Listen, honey, there aren't that many traveling teams, and therefore, not many pilots. We're normally only here for about three days. Take it or leave it. The process is the process. I wasn't hired to be your nanny, telling you all of the answers. You were supposed to ask those to Captain Pierce." I am almost ripping the blouse I have in my hand after she says that last bit, but I calm down. I won't be here for long. Soon it'll be back to D.C. I wonder if I'll have to fly back.

Spencer's P.O.V.

I sat on the plane and reviewed the case I was given. Not another child abduction case. Anything but that. I feel like out of all the types of cases we handle, these are the worst. For people like Hotch and JJ and Rossi, it hits closer to home, but it's disgusting for everyone. It's disheartening to think that some people have no problem with hurting someone who would trust you not to hurt them. The last one we handled wasn't as terrible. It was just some psychopath with a ransom note. In reality, he kept them in his basement. He thought he could make bombs, but all he really could do was understand how to blow up a microwave.

This one has less children, less of a chance of failing. Still, that doesn't make it any better. Besides all of the obvious reasons for hating children's cases, I really hate lying to my mom. And I know that sounds terrible, but like I said, besides all of the obvious reasons. Whenever we have a case like this, I never tell her the truth to her. My mother has a debilitating case of schizophrenia. Schizophrenia, like with any person, has different triggers with different people. My mother can actually listen to most of my cases over letter. They don't trigger her like they would other people. As a fan and professor of early fifteenth century literature, she knows that people are incredibly capable of doing terrible things. She listens to the cases and actually finds interest in them. Well, I say interest, but it's more of an intrigue. Of all of her triggers, I find it best not to talk to her about cases with children. I don't actually know if she would react adversely to them, but I would say it's best if I don't find out. My mother cares about me and loves me very much, and I fear that if she reads a case about a child being abducted or killed, she would start having an episode because she projects me onto the child. I also tend to stray away from details when cases involve the mass killings of someone my age. If someone were to share my name, I would change it. Anything to keep my mother from projecting me onto the victim. With the method I use now, everything seems to be going well. If something doesn't feel right or if I feel like it would move her personally, I omit it.

I get ready to go out and solve the case, brain ready with one thousand questions that will all be solved eventually, whether by Garcia or by my own deduction skills or by family members revealing more about the personality of those involved.

I smile at Derek and he smiles at me. I think he knows I've been feeling better lately. When I don't feel good, he always knows. It's not like I wear my heart on my sleeve or anything, but when you go to work with a bunch of people who profile others for a living, secrets aren't something kept easily. I wave to the girl from my apartment building on the way out and prepare myself for another solid three days to a week of discomfort, tired and sad families, and racing against the clock.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I don't know if I can do this much longer. Captain Wiler is a menace. She changes out in the open, she went through my purse and took my cough drops, and smoked cigarettes in the bathtub. I have no first hand evidence of the last two, but my cough drops were missing from my purse and I found ashes on the the bathroom mat; In the tub, too. I hate living with her. She snores and of all the bizarre things I packed in case of an emergency, earplugs was not one of them.

"So when are we leaving, again?" I ask during one of the many times I had to shield my eyes as she changed into her pajamas.

"I don't know. When we get a call."

"How long does it normally take to get a call?"

"Three days, usually."

"Three days? How long has it been?"

"It's only been three days" In all honesty, it feels like it's been an eternity since I've left. I miss my house, my nook, my record player, and my poetry. I miss it all.

Captain Wiler couldn't really care less about any of it. She obviously only sees it as an opportunity to stay in a hotel for free for a few days. It's like living with your annoying aunt who smokes and smells and is lazy. You left your hometown and got a job elsewhere to get away from that aunt, not spend the night with her. She clips her toenails and watched Jeopardy as my phone rings. I don't even look to see who it is before I pick up.

"Hello? Captain Pierce?"

"No? Charlotte, this is your landlord, Mr. Popling."

"Oh! Yes, of course. Did I forget to pay my rent for this month? I'm sorry if I did. I was so busy with other things, and I'm on a business trip right now, so I'll-"

"Charlotte. You paid your rent. I'm calling to tell you there was a break in." I'm a bit confused, but I'm still concerned.

"What happened? Was someone hurt?"

"Well, no. Charlotte. The break-in was in your apartment. The door was busted open and someone ransacked it. I only know because I was going up there to ask you a question about your air conditioning and the door was kicked in. I went in to ask if you knew about it, but I remembered that you were away. I didn't clean any of it up because I didn't want to touch anything you wouldn't want me to. Don't worry, I also got a new door and lock on it as soon as I found it. You can get your new keys in the lobby when you come have some footage on the security cameras, but it's not very useful. I can show it to you when you're back. I just thought you should know, and I didn't want to call you while you were working, so I called once typical working hours were done. Charlotte?" I want to interrupt him with every other word he says, but they aren't coming out. My entire body is on lockdown. All I can do is sit and stare and think and listen. Once he calls my name, I snap myself from it and answer.

"Yes. Okay. Uh. Mr. Popling, thank you for getting a new door and lock I will pay for it when I get back." '-If I can.' I add in my head. "I'll look at it when I get home and see if I need to file any insurance claims or anything. I should be home soon- within a day or two, so you don't need to worry. However, if you could check up on my house every now and again until I'm home, I would appreciate it."

"I'll see what I can do. Don't worry about it, Charlotte. Safe travels."

"Thanks," I say. I hang up. It's almost like my body doesn't even know how to respond. My stomach has dropped into the abyss, and my sweat glands are in overdrive. I mean, sure, maybe I didn't have a whole lot of valuable items in there, but there were tons of things in there that were valuable to me. What if he broke appliances I can't pay to replace? What if I have to get a new fridge, and I can't? I mean, I probably could, but what if I have to buy a whole new kitchen? What if he stole my clothes and jewelry? I inherited some of those from my grandmother. What about my record player? What if they broke my record player or stole all of my records or…? I can't think straight. I run to the bathroom, because I feel like I might be sick. After a few solid minutes of panicking and dry heaving, I realize that I won't be sick and it is purely the panic settling in and refusing to go away.

"What's up?" Captain Wiler asks, now filing her nails.

"My apartment was broken into. I don't know what they stole or when they stole it, but just the thought of it is stressing me out. I'm just freaking out a little. I really don't want any of my sentimentally valuable possessions gone, and yet, I'm scared that's what will be gone." She doesn't look up from her nails. Her eyebrow is raised and she just stands there for a second.

"Be thankful."

"What?"

"You heard me. At least you weren't there when they broke in, or think of what they would have done to you." I feel the liquid adrenaline in my stomach turn to a solid rock of what is probably going to turn into a bout of suppressed rage and two Tums.

"Maybe if I was there, I could have scared them away; chased them with something." She chuckles. Why is she chuckling?

"Listen, I know you were a part of that Air Force academy blah blah blah whatever, but look at you. You are a young, single, defenseless twenty-something. I'm frightened. Do you see what I mean?" In all honesty, I don't want to. I exercise. I can run. And most people who do theses things are just cowards. I don't argue with her, though. She may be the next out of the unit, but I'm not creating tension with a coworker within my first month on the job.

"Sure," I mumble. Now I'm nervous, sad, angry, and homesick. And there's nothing I can do about it.

The phone rings. Again, I answer before I can look at who it is.

"Hello?"

"Captain Wills? This is SSA Hotchner. I'm calling to tell you to prepare the jets. We would like to to out of here by eleven. Can you do that?" I check the clock on the wall. We have two hours to ready the jet. Which means we would have to get over there in a half hour. We can ready it in time.

"Yes, easily. We'll be in the same terminal you were dropped off in."

"Great. Thank you."

Spencer's P.O.V.

Everyone on the plane fell asleep as soon as they sat down. I didn't, but I wasn't including myself. This last case was hard on all of us. Normally, when we have a case involving both children and drugs, it's the unsub taking the drugs and also the children. Not in this one. The kids couldn't have been more than ten. This unsub would hide the children and torture them, but before he took them to his hidden location, he would force the kids to take heroin, so they had a hard time remembering where the spot was. We found a new way to find the unsub by tracing the exact string of heroin found in the bodies of the dead children. This unsub was just a psychopath and a sadist. No delusions, no projecting, just torture and sickness. There was no banter, no smiles, as we boarded the plane. The pilot, my apparent neighbor, welcomed us all aboard. She was smiling, but there was an uneasiness in her smile. Derek put on his headphones and leaned his head on the window, and Prentiss, sitting beside him, leaned her chair all the way back and didn't say a word. JJ followed suit. Hotch was leaning forward, and you couldn't really tell if he was working or asleep, but his hands weren't moving. Rossi splayed himself out on his chair and fell asleep before we even took off, his rhythmed half snoring signaling his unconsciousness. The plane took off without a hitch and just like that, I was alone at thousands of feet in the air. It's silent, except for myself, humming a song that's been stuck in my head for days. I retrieve a few puzzles from my satchel to solve, even though I really have no appetite for them at the moment. I have to do something. Halfway into my tenth sudoku, the plane lurches forward and shakes. Turbulence. Nobody is awoken, but it was still pretty strong. I decide to check on the pilots.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

We readied the plane in record time. There was enough time for us to eat and sit around for awhile before the team arrived. Not that I ate. I didn't. I can't even think about eating after I got the news. I have no desire to eat. No appetite. Will it make me feel better? Physically, probably. Mentally, no. I don't want to eat. It sounds unappetizing. All I can do at this moment is think and sit and stare. As we got closer to the team arriving, Captain Wiler and I get onto the plane. She doesn't even ask if I am interested in flying home. She just gets back into her seat on the left.

"Have fun," She mumbles, retrieving a magazine from her bag.

"Thanks." I say, tracing the silhouette of the controls with my eyes.

"Are you _still_ upset?" She asks.

"What do you mean? Of course I am."

"Look, it sucks. I know. It's bad. You'll fix it when you're home. There is no use in crying about it now. Seriously, quit the bawling. It's getting annoying." I feel something snap within my head.

"I am _not_ crying." There are so many other things I want to say, and yet, I can't. My mouth isn't letting me. I want to tell her to shut up, to just quit because she doesn't care about her job or her coworkers I don't say it, even though I desperately want to. I add on one last thing, not even caring if it's a lie or not.

"I don't cry."

Later, after I've welcomed everyone onto the plane, I sit in my seat and take off. I look over to Wiler and she's out. Thanks. It's not like I had any questions or anything. I didn't, but I just hate that she's so unprofessional with her job, especially the process of her job itself. The flying part. Isn't that why she joined this unit anyways? About ten minutes into the flight, I start straying from the focus of the flight. I start thinking about my apartment again. What if they put cameras in there? What if my records were smashed? Or what if my poetry bookshelf is just in ashes? I know the fire alarm would have gone off, but what if they disabled it? They could have done tons of stuff to put me in danger, but not immediately. Like if they messed with the oven and then some day in the near future, it catches fire or explodes and I'm left in a scorched pile of ash? I know these are all highly unlikely, but nothing is stopping them from happening, either.

Now is the one time I am thankful that Wiler is sleeping, because now, I really am crying. I feel the warm droplets caress my face as they make their way down to my uniform, where they will be soaked up and dried. I try to stop crying. I hate it when I cry, but the tears just keep coming one after another after another. I decide to let it happen, as there is no fighting it, and all traces of tears will be gone by the time I land.

Suddenly, while I'm not paying attention, I hit a bout of turbulence that shook the plane pretty badly. It was so hard that it made me bite the inside of my mouth. I brushed it off and steadied the plane, but all this did was add to my stress levels, even if we were fine.

When I was little and I would go on plane rides, I always loved the idea of leaving your problems on the ground. You weren't touching the earth, and that's where your problems were. I was just up in the air, away from my problems. I would cherish the peace in the air cabin, the silent sound of people sitting together and nobody worrying about what was on the ground. I feel like I can't do that now, because every problem is inevitable. Every problem is going to meet you when you land. At least, this one is. I just want to go home, but I don't. I don't want to see what's been done. I don't know what I want to do. I think about it, and I come to a conclusion. I don't want to go home, or land, or be on earth at all. I just want to fly and fly and fly forever, because your problems can't catch you when you have wings.

While I'm lost in my world of grandeur delusions, there is a knock on the cockpit door.

Spencer's P.O.V.

I knock on the cabin door, lightly. I wait for one of the pilots to say something. It takes a moment.

"Come in."One of them says. It sounds like the younger one. I push the door open and stand behind the console between the two seats.

"Is everything okay Captain…?" She wipes her face on her sleeve and straightens up.

"It's Wills, but just call me Charlotte. You knew Charlotte before Captain Wills." She says. Her voice is shaky, like she's upset or has been crying.

"Charlotte, if you're upset because the turbulence shocked or scared you, I want to let you know that turbulence doesn't cause plane crashes, and even so, 95% of people who are in a plane crash survive said crash. I know you're relatively new here, but-"

"No, no, it's fine. I knew that. I'm a pilot. I'm just a little stressed. It happens to everyone." She said, taking a giant breath and trying to smile.

"Do you need to talk about it?"

"I'm fine actua-..."

"What? What is it?"

"Look down. Lenticular clouds. They're my favorite. Look, they're absolutely flat."

"Oh, yeah." I said, looking down at the lens shaped puffs "Did you know that Lenticular clouds are often reported as UFO's? Because when people see them in the distance, they don't think it's a cloud." She smiles and laughs at this.

"So I'm assuming your wealth of knowledge doesn't just include the origins of holiday traditions?"

"Well, that and more," I say. "Are you sure there's nothing I can get you?"

"Actually, I have a bag behind my seat. I have a water bottle on top. Can you get it?"I see the water bottle and swipe it from her purse. She looks grateful.

"Are you hungry?" People who are stressed typically tend to eat more, however, she's drinking her water almost desperately. I wouldn't be surprised if she forgot to eat as well.

"I mean, yes and no. I haven't eaten since lunch, and I am hungry, but I don't want you to-" I leave the cockpit and go to the back of the plane. We keep a cupboard of snacks for whoever wants them. I grab some chocolate chip cookies in a bag and bring them back to the front, humming that same song that I've been humming for days.

"Oh, Gee. Thanks, Spencer. You didn't need to."  
"No trouble." As she's eating the cookies, with both eyes on the sky and on hand reaching for the cookies, I see her turn to say something, and stop.

"Yes?"

"That song. Isn't it Moon River? Where'd you hear it?" She seemed legitimately interested, but also the slightest bit nervous. Her shoulders rose a small bit and she rubbed the fingers of her free hand together.

"You haven't heard? There's someone in our building who plays music really loudly. I think I'm directly beneath them, though, so I can hear it better. I'd be annoyed if the music was metal or something, but it's pretty calming stuff." She sighs again.

"No, I can hear it just fine."

"Really? Does it annoy you?" She takes a while to answer this one, like she is choosing each word that she will say very carefully."

"I mean, if it annoyed me, I would just turn it off." I freeze. I don't know what to say. I hope she isn't offended. I mean, I don't think I said anything offensive. I actually complimented her music taste. I hope she's not offended.

"I'm sorry. Like I said, It doesn't bother me at all. I like your music. You don't have to turn it down. I'm not asking you to do that or anythin- Wait. Did you use all of the hot water in our block a couple months ago?" She's not looking at me, but I see her eyes widen. I can see the regret of owning up to her identity.

"Yeah… Sorry about that. You didn't get any extra charges, right?"

"No, not at all. Though I did appreciate the note. It was nice of you to offer to pay."

"Doing anything else would have been rude. I may play my music too loud and I may use all of your hot water, but I am _not_ a monster." She laughs, genuinely. I laugh along as well, hoping to indicate that there are no hard feelings between us.

"I'll turn it down for now on," She says after a pause in the conversation.

"No. It's fine. I enjoy your music, and I'm only home to hear it in the evening."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, that's very nice of you to say." She takes a few moments, looking at the landscape below, and says: "Spencer, thank you. I'm still a little nervous about something I have to deal with when I get home, but you have really helped me. I don't think I've smiled in days. Plus, it feels nice to actually physically say sorry to you."

"It shouldn't, because you don't need to. You feel genuinely terrible, and I understand. I wasn't even upset in the first place." There is another lull in the conversation.

"Spencer, got any facts about break-ins, or burglaries, maybe?"

"Uh, let's see. Burglary is a common, non-confrontal crime, usually committed in the daytime when no one is home and usually by young, white males who normally take things that can be easily converted into cash. Jewelry, money. That type of thing. Was your apartment broken into?" I ask.

"Something like that," She says. "It isn't that important now that I say it. It sounds dumb. I'm just scared."

"You have every right to be. However, statistics say that you'll be fine. Did you hide money or valuables in your apartment?"

"Nope. Well, maybe some jewelry. I keep my money in the bank. Do records count?"

"I don't think the average burglar would think to take them, no. Does that make you feel better?"

"Immensely. Thanks, Spencer. Now, not to sound rude, but you need to go sit down. We are beginning our final descent."

"Yes, Captain Wills." I smile

Charlotte's P.O.V.

As we land, I'm actually feeling better. I'm not sure if it's the cookies or the water or the good conversation, but I'm not as upset or nervous. Granted, I still am, but less so. I'm glad to know that there are people in this world who still find joy in helping others. After the plane has landed and is docked, I bid farewell to the team, with Spencer being last. He smiles at me and I smile at him. It's good to have someone kind enough to talk to you when you're upset. I leave right after, gathering my suitcase and walking off the plane without saying goodbye to Captain Wiler.

I catch a bus home, my stomach aching in anticipation to see what my apartment looks like. I walk up to the front desk and tell the man who I am, and I tell him I'm here to get my keys.

"What are the last four digits of your phone number? Mr. P. wanted me to ask so I knew it was you."

"9352" I say. He hands over the keys. I thank him and climb the stairs back up to my apartment. The door looks the same.I use my new keys to get in, crossing my fingers, hoping, and praying that it's not as bad as I think it is.

In some situations on this world, 'could be worse' is not a result you would want. However, if you're talking about a break in, it's absolutely fine. My bookshelf has been completely cleared, but all of the books that laid on it are just in a mess on the floor. My coffee table was pushed over and emptied out, and all of the contents stored on the floor. My records were emptied out and spread around, but none of them were broken. My player is in pristine condition. My closet was ransacked and some of my clothes are gone, but nothing is burnt or broken or wet. Some of my clothes are gone, but I think that's it. I make the resolution that I'll take an off day tomorrow to clean my apartment and buy some better security. Before I change or shower or brush my teeth, I look at all of my records, making sure they're okay. I find the record I played the night before I left, and I smile at it. I put it on the player and turn the volume up as high as it will go, listening to the words again for the second time in a week.

 _Moon River, wider than a mile._

Hey guys! Thanks for reading! If you liked it, give me a favorite and review! Sorry I'm a day late on updating. This chapter is the longest yet and I gave myself Thanksgiving off! Now, there was a person who reviewed a few weeks ago that I want to thank personally, here. I allow anonymous reviews, and that's what this person did. They gave me a really heartfelt and kind review that really gave me assurance in myself. They said it was well paced and clever, and because I can't respond to anonymous reviews, I wanted to thank this person here, because it was one of the nicest things anyone has said so far.


	9. Songbird- Fleetwood Mac Part One

_And I feel that when I'm with you,_

 _It's alright, I know it's right_

A week and a half off, a ton of music to jam to, and roughly ten thousand pots of coffee later, my apartment is cleaner than it was when I left it for my first flight at my job. I take a step back when my final book is on its newly dusted shelf and take a sigh of peaceful conclusion. I don't mind this at all. It's a good thing I got it done today. I was only willing to take a few days off work to get this done. It took a whole lot longer than I first expected I hope to god that I wouldn't have to be stuck with Wiler as my copilot for regular cases. I try not to think about it. It's only 4:00 now. In the afternoon, of course. If I had just wanted to put everything the robbers displaced back into their original places, I probably would have been done yesterday or this morning. However, in an effort to tidy up a small bit when I had first come home, I realized that my bookshelves were pretty much covered in dust. I decided to take this in a positive light and just take the time to deep clean my whole apartment. Sure, it's a couple vacation days off, but do I really need to go home for Thanksgiving next year? I don't even know if I'm invited to Christmas _this_ year. Maybe I'll just celebrate with my...self. Myself. Although, I bet Shonda probably has a Christmas party every year. It might be ambitious of me to assume so, but I feel like she is the type of person who would have one of those.

Then, it hits me. My Birdsong. I didn't come up with one. I mean, sure. I have ideas, but nothing that I can actually use. Everything I come up with is either dumb sounding or something that might sound unclear over the radios. I know putting it off isn't going to help me at all, but it sure is going to make the rest of the day a little less stressful. I'll take some time to think about it on my next mission.

I spend the rest of the day chilling around my house, reading some books and listening to music (Of course.) It's been a long time since I've actually taken the time to read poetry in peace and quiet. Edgar Allan Poe has never sounded so appealing. I know he's known for is more macabre stuff, but I stuck with the light poems today. I even brewed myself a kettle of green tea to drink. I know I probably shouldn't drink the whole kettle, as the caffeine may mess with my sleeping patterns, but I decide to live on the edge.

While I'm reading and halfway into my third cup of green tea, I get a text from Shonda.

 _Hey. Get your bags packed if you're not planning on another sick day tomorrow. We're flying out later in the evening, and it's going to be a longer flight_. _Expect to be gone for a few more days._

I smile and cringe at the same time. On one hand, I'm glad that I get to go somewhere farther than originally intended, but on the other, a late night flight isn't exactly the best sounding thing to me. I get another kettle out and start brewing an extra large serving of tea. I'll put it in a pitcher tomorrow, and depending on how the flight preparations go, I'll either drink it on the plane or drown myself in it.

Hotchner's P.O.V.

Every morning when Jack and I wake up together, I tend to get myself ready a bit earlier so I can give him more attention and help as he gets ready for his day. I'll wake up, get dressed, fix my hair and make Jack his breakfast. He enjoys cocoa pebbles, but if we have toaster waffles, he won't eat anything else, and he'll make me eat them with him. I'm personally not a big fan of toaster waffles, but when he tells me that I should have them, too, I can't really say no. He looks so happy when I let him put my waffles in the toaster so he can say that _he_ made _me_ breakfast that morning instead of just the other way around. After some riveting morning conversation, I'll help him get dressed, we brush our teeth together, and then I'll make sure he has everything for school. Mornings like today, I'll grab a suitcase of my own. I got a call last night about a case that we'll be leaving for tonight. I'll carry my suitcase in one arm and Jack's hand in the other. If we have time, he'll get on the bus, but if I need to be at work early, I just drive him to school, because it's on the way to work. Just looking at him makes me smile, even when he's not doing anything. You never realize how much happiness a human being is capable of until you have a kid. And the best part about the happiness is that it's contagious. Sure, I'm not smiling when I walk in for work, but I am on the way there. Work is more of a reality check. With endless amounts of happiness come endless amounts of grief, sorrow, pain, and all types of suffering. I walk into the office fully prepared for this. Garcia is already there, bustling around the office with papers in hand and roughly twelve pencils somewhere on her person.

"Hotch, there's a few files in the meeting room waiting for your pickup regarding the next case. We're leaving this evening. It's going to be a longer one." Garcia's mixture of helpful information and implied solemness of a case shows on her face as she points behind her to where the room is.

"Thank you, Garcia" I nod and head straight for that room. I pass Derek and Reid on my way back to the room, passing their desks in the bullpen. They each wave to me and greet me with a "Good morning." or a "Morning, Hotch." I nod and return the favor on my way back. I meet JJ in the room and she hands me the file.

"Where is this one?" I ask.

"Wyoming," She says. I was afraid she'd say that. That means it's going to be one of the longest flights in and out. I can only hope the case is resolved quickly.

I head back to my office to begin looking the case over. Reminding myself to call Jessie so she can babysit Jack for a few days while I work, I sit down in my chair and set the file on the desk. Before it's even cracked open, I close my eyes and sigh.

Spencer's P.O.V.

She's been playing music for the past nine days. I can only assume she hasn't been at work. I can't hear anything when I wake up, which is normal. She doesn't play things in the mornings. However, she normally doesn't come home before I do, so when I come home and I hear some indie or throwback artist through the ceiling, I can assume she's been at home all day. I hope nothing happened, however, I don't feel comfortable enough to go up and ask. I'll just wait until I see her again, if I do. I mean, I probably will.

This morning isn't unlike any other. JJ called me last night so I would have a bag ready for an upcoming case. By now, the elevator is, thankfully, fixed, so I don't have to carry my suitcase all the way down the stairwell. I take my luggage with me from the metro to work, my nose halfway through a book the entire time. It is only when I have run into two different hot dog vendors, two Federal Bureau of Investigation members, and a tree that I realize that reading while walking may not be my strong suit.

I go inside, I am, once again, the first member of my team to show up.

"Good morning my My Magical Mister Mystopho-Reid. Case files are available in the meeting room." I stand corrected and smiling.

"Thanks, Garcia." She smiles and continues whatever she is doing, which looks suspiciously like pouring a ridiculous amount of sugar in her coffee straight from the glass shaker instead of from a spoon. I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing if nobody were around. I grab the file and come back to my desk, perusing details and eating a donut that magically appeared on my desk since the time I have gotten back from the boardroom. I notice Derek's desk has a donut on his as well. Mine is pink, with rainbow sprinkles. I bite into it eagerly and it's nearly gone by the time Derek gets to work, which is to say, about two minutes later.

"Good morning, Pretty Boy." He says, noticing my mouth is too full of donut to respond.

"Jeez, kid. Did you remember to breathe?" I think about it, and shake my head. He laughs and takes a bite of his own donut. His is just glazed. He smirks at me and goes to retrieve his own copy of the case.

We're both reading the case, making idle conversation, and drinking coffee when Hotch comes in for work. We give him the customary morning greeting and go back to what we were doing. Roughly a half hour afterward, long enough for him to read the case on his own, he comes out and gives us our commands.

"I'm going to need you all to start coming up with leads for this case. We're leaving tonight on the plane and we should be in Wyoming by morning, but that means we'll have a day where we could have done something and chose not to. I don't want to show up empty-handed, so I expect to have a few things to go on by the time we get there." He says, standing on the walkway above the bullpen.

"Sure thing," Derek says, flipping another page in his file back to the beginning. I run to a back room where we keep a clear Dry erase board that is free to use by anyone around here. As soon as it's in the bullpen, I make myself another cup of coffee and start writing down possible motives.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I grab everything I need for the next flight, this time only slightly more familiar than it was the first time. I told myself I was going to pack less for the next flight, but this one is much farther away, so I'm scared that if I do, I won't have enough. The only aspects in which this departure from my apartment is different than the last is the water bottle full of green tea instead of water and the extra two locks I invested in that I lock before I leave.I tell myself that I'm not nervous. I can't be. It's not in me. I think I have everything. I actually remembered to bring my Walkman and headphones this time, so I don't have to listen to Wiler snore anymore. I don't even know if Wiler is my co-pilot, but I'm not taking chances. _That's_ how bad it is. I take a deep breath and step out of my apartment. I lock my door and head toward the elevator. As I' leave the building, I notice my fingers been absentmindedly stroking Chewie's fur. Maybe I am a little more nervous than I previously thought.

When I get to the BAU, things seem to be in full swing already. I'm not surprised. Shonda said I didn't have to show up until around midday when I called and told her that I was indeed coming to work so she didn't need to get a replacement pilot for me. I didn't ask about my copilot because I wanted to seem a _little_ more professional than I am.

Much like all of the other parts of the BAU headquarters, the aviation unit is as full of life and chatter as the rest of the building. Shonda stands up from behind her desk to greet me, only to have her attention taken away by a few techs who are playing with what looks like, ironically, a paper airplane.

"If you want to fly planes around here, then you better all have your pilot's license. What? No? Well then, back to it." She makes a 180 in several senses, one of them being her physical turning from yelling at the techs to where I was standing, and the other being her facial expression, which goes from a very stern glare to a beam of concerned happiness.

"Honey! It feels like ages since I've seen you! nine sick days in a row? What happened? Did you catch the _plague_?" She smiles and wraps her arms around me in a happy and excited fashion, with myself merrily gasping for air on the other end. In hindsight, it was only a week that I was gone, but I haven't seen her since I went out on my first flight.

"No, I'm fine. I just had some things to take care of at home, you know?"

"Aw, sure honey. Happens to everyone. Are you ready for your next trip? Do you think you're okay to do the whole thing?" I take a moment to think.

"Well, I mean, sure. I think I am. Why would I have to do the whol- Wait. No."

"Yes. I'm sorry. It just seems like she's always the only one left when it comes to getting a copilot for your times. You two balance out pretty well, sadly. One person is competent enough to do the whole thing, and the other one has been here for god _knows_ how long. I think, however, that we actually got you separate rooms. Trust me, I've been there. Ain't it hell?"

"And then some," I add. She smiles at me and pats me on the back a few times as we head over to the locker area so I can get some things that I normally leave there.

"So," Shonda says, looking at the top of every locker down the line, each one with a name tag on the top except for my own. "Have you put any more thought towards your birdsong?" I press my lips together. In all honesty, with the time I've had, I probably should have been able to narrow it down. I didn't. I mean, I've thrown around ideas, but I haven't really thought of something that I really like- something that I can see myself being called.

"Yes and no. I like a few things, but I don't really have a lot of ideas. Just little things. Things I need to think over. I want to put a lot of thought into this, you know?" She smiles at me and nods her head, patting me on my back as I retrieve the loose items out of my locker.

"Like I said. Christmas. I'll give you 'til New Years if you want. If not, I'll choose one for you. However, I can promise you it won't be as bad as Captain Wiler's name. I'll give you something that fits if you can't come up with one. Either way. I wouldn't worry. You can't go chasing after it. It comes to you." I feel bad, because I feel like I've let her down, but I also feel kind of relieved to know that it isn't a big deal if I can't think of one myself.

"Captain Wills!" The scathing crow from across the room tells me it is before I even register what she's saying. Cap rolls her eyes, gives me a look, and pats me on the back before heading to her desk to work on whatever she was working on before I got to work. I slowly turn around to see Captain Wiler speed walking towards me with a bag under her arm.

"I assume since you finally decided to show up, that you're planning on piloting the flight that takes off tonight. Would I be assuming the right thing?" I furrow my brows and take a deep breath.

"Yes. I would be. I'm assuming that makes you my copilot?"

"Yep. Are you sure you're capable to continue with the arrangement we had on our last flight together? I mean, now that the distance is farther, I don't want you feeling overwhelmed." Oh, dear god. I'm yelling at her in my head, and it's coming _so close_ to me yelling at her for real.

"I'll be fine, ma'am," I mumble, suddenly taking great interest in my own bags.

"Good. Be ready." She says. I sigh again, turning around and trudging over to Shonda's desk.

"How have you dealt with all of that for so long?" Shonda lowers her reading glasses onto the bridge of her nose and chuckles.

"That's easy. I just never took any of her shit. But, that's easy for me to say as her superior. Try being a little more assertive. Start calling her out on little things. Y'all don't have to take any of her shit either." I smile at her bluntness, even though foul language is typically frowned upon in the workplace. She really does remind me of a cool aunt or the mom of a friend's.

"Will you be okay until the flight? You don't need help loading anything or inspections? I can probably scrape up some free time from now until you leave." I shake my head.  
"I appreciate it, but I came in early just so I could make up for lost time. I still have a few introductory forms and logs to fill out, and then if you add that to inspection and some cleaning, I'll be finished right in time to fly for a solid six hours.

"You're planning on flying the whole thing? Now, either you are ambitious as all living _hell_ , or you're on some _real_ weird flight shifts with Wiler."

"Well, yeah. We made kind of a custom flight schedule, but don't worry, it's totally fair. I fly in, and then on our way out, I also fly. I fly, always. All the time. And she sleeps. It's the _best_." It's here that I realize that I am inadvertently telling on my coworker to the woman who is essentially my boss, something I told myself I would specifically _not_ do. I really hope she doesn't get the wrong idea. I watch her facial expressions carefully. She seems shocked, but I don't think it's because I told her. I think she's in shock over the act itself.

"She really _does_ think she can push you around. Try getting her to fly on her way back. See if you can put her back in her place. I think she's trying to get those last few ounces of bitterness out before the end of the quarter. That's when she's retiring." I let out a silent sigh of relief.

"Cap, you seem a bit more… blunt today. Care to share?" She shakes her head and takes a swig of her coffee.

"I had to negotiate Christmas plans over the course of the time you were gone with my family. I guess I still haven't recovered."

"I feel that," I added, checking my watch. I probably need to get going if I want to be ready by the time I have to take off, which is always a good goal for a pilot.

"Sorry Cap, I have to get going." She smiles and raises her coffee mug.

"Anytime, honey."

Hotch's P.O.V.

So far, I've spent the better part of six full hours talking to my team about this case, and there is still very little that we know. It's unlike anything we've seen before. At one point, it's so frustrating, I decide to take a walk down the hall to clear my head. Maybe get a glass of water.

When I'm halfway to the water cooler, I hear someone call my name behind me.

"Agent Hotchner." It's Strauss. And just when I think I'm getting a break.

"Yes, Agent Strauss?" I ask, stopping in the middle of the hallway so she can catch up.

"What are your plans for this Saturday?" She asks, like if I don't already, I will now.

"My son has a soccer game I was planning on going to. That's one of my off days." I make sure to point it out, because I only take a few per month. She doesn't get the hint.

"Okay. I'm sorry to say, but I'm going to have to ask you to move it. I need you in here on Saturday to do psych evals for a different team. Their SSA has Meningitis and won't be able to get it in by the deadline we need it by, so I'm going to have to ask you to take care of it." She looks at me like I'm supposed to just nod and agree, but I don't see why it _has_ to be me."

"Can't the SSA of a different team do it? One that isn't off that day? Why can't you do it?"

"I have a meeting with some of my superiors to discuss budgeting on a small scale as far as teams go. I can't move it. As for you: The reason you're off is precisely the reason I chose you to do the Evaluations. Everyone else would be taking time away from their job, and you are a hard-working SSA who doesn't mind going the extra mile. I assumed you had it in you to do this. Are you in or are you out?" I listened to her words and I think I understood the gist of what she was trying to say. Every single time I have been promoted, it was because I was one of the most hardworking people in the organization and I was always willing to put work before anything else, even if I didn't want to. I never _wanted_ to. If I stop doing what he says, and I 'stop putting in as full of an effort as I once did,' she could have reason to lower my pay or set me up to be reviewed, which only gets in the way of work and gives Garcia anxiety attacks. Even if I know I wouldn't be fired, it's less hassle to do what she says.

"I'll be here. What time?"

Spencer's P.O.V.

It's almost eleven by the time we get on the plane. We still know next to nothing about this unsub. All we know is what the motive probably isn't, because of the victimology. I would love to sleep on the plane ride there, but with the way the time is set up, I would get way too much sleep. It would be one in the morning Wyoming time by the time I got there, and If I get any more than seven to eight hours of sleep in a night, it impedes my ability to think critically. I decide that I'll just stay up on the plane and sleep once I'm in Wyoming. As we're boarding the plane, I'm greeted by Charlotte and the woman who I'm assuming is her copilot. She smiles and shakes my hand again. I want to ask her how she is, since she's been shut in her apartment for the last week and a half, but she has to handle liftoff and everything. Maybe I'll wait until we're up in the air. I check my bag for things to do in case she doesn't want me talking to her this time. I brought tons of sudokus, a couple books, and I bribed Derek into downloading a bunch of my favorite songs onto my company iPad. We've had them for a while now and this will only be, like, the fourth time I've used one. I'm counting on the music to take me most of the way, since I doubt the books will last me long. We hold on for takeoff and I wait until I can assume we are a good distance up in the air before I get up. Most of the other members of the team wanted to get some extra sleep, so they decided to sleep on the plane. By the time I go to the front of the plane, they're all asleep. I actually can't tell if Derek is just asleep or listening to music with his eyes shut. Either way, he'd be asleep eventually. I knock on the cabin door respectfully when I get to the front of the plane. There's a pause, followed by a "Come in." I open the door slowly and peek into the cockpit, resuming the position I had been in the first time Charlotte and I had talked.

"Mr. Reid. I should have known. How are you?"

"Dr. Reid. I'm great. How are you, Charlotte. How did the…" I look over to her copilot and I notice that instead of sleeping like she was last time, she is simply flipping through a magazine. I can't tell if she is agitated or not.

"It was fine. I think all that was stolen was a few articles of clothing. I'm thinking it was just someone who needed it." She smiles and tilts her head, her eyes focused on the horizon. I resist the urge to tell her that it could also have been a fetishist who just wanted her clothes to wear or for her smell, but her guess is more likely and easier on the mind."

"I'm really glad. I was hoping it wasn't too bad, what with you locked in your apartment for a week." She giggles, and I think she might be a little embarrassed. I feel bad.

"No, I just had to clean up. While not much was broken or stolen, the place was in complete disarray. It took me a long time to get everything back in its original position. I like my apartment how I like my apartment, you know?" As someone who has clinically diagnosed acute Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I do know. It doesn't feel right when things aren't in the place they normally are, and I can imagine how much work she put into making her apartment look exactly as it did before the break in. Or at least, I can imagine the amount of work _I_ would have put in to make my apartment look exactly as it did.

"Totally. I have to keep the books on my shelf a certain way or it drives me crazy. She smiles and laughs, with the laugh turning into a cough.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I haven't had much water this afternoon. Not as much as I should have. Can you get into my purse in the back and take out the cup with the straw?"

"Absolutely." I look into her bag, and the cup is one of the biggest things in there. Sitting on top of the cup, however, is a little Chewbacca key chain. The exact one I found a few weeks ago in the stairwell. I guess I should have made the connection that 5G was directly above 4G, but it evaded me. Before giving her the cup, I get an idea.

"We meet again. Will someone get this big walking carpet out of my way?" I say, shaking her keychain in one hand and in the other, handing her what looks like iced tea for seven people.

"Again? What do you mean? Do you like Star Wars?" She asked, confused and excited by my comment.

"Didn't you lose your keychain a few weeks ago? I found this little guy in the stairwell and put him on your doormat. I love Star Wars. Do you have a favorite movie?" He asks, because everyone has a favorite movie. Or, at least, I do. I can't imagine _not_ having one.

"A New Hope. I really do love it. I love the initial relations when the team is just kind of rag-tag. It's great. Plus, the first unveiling of Darth Vader is just _chilling_."

"I totally get it. I like Return Of the Jedi. I just really love a happy ending. I think it delivers tremendously."

"Delivers tremendously, I think it does," She says, mocking me in a Yoda voice that is, in the lightest way of saying it, absolutely terrible. I understand what she's doing, though, and laugh with her. She hands me her gargantuan water bottle and wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her uniform. I strike back with my own impression.

"Yoda impressions badly, you do." She laughs so hard that she nearly falls out of her seat. She probably would have had she not been buckled in. When she's done, she thinks for a second, and tries shaping up her impression.

"Kidding me, you are. Worse than mine, your impression is." I laugh so hard at her voice. It sounds like she has peanut butter crammed in the back of her throat. While I'm laughing, I forget that I have limited room, and I hit my head off of the cockpit ceiling. This is what I get for being tall. I wouldn't count on it to hurt this much, but it does, it really does. I rest my head on the wall for a moment and squeeze my eyes. Long enough for Charlotte to notice that I don't feel good.

"Hey, you okay? Spencer, why don't you go lie down? Looks like you got yourself pretty bad there." I nod my head, the pain still shooting through every crevice of my brain. I apologize quickly and say goodbye to Charlotte. On my way out, I can hear her say something very quietly.

"Lay down, you should. Much rest, you need."

Charlotte's P.O.V.

After Spencer leaves to go lay down and hopefully get an ice pack, Wiler throws her magazine onto the floor and looks at me with disgust.

"According to the rules, it is against regulation to allow someone to just meander in here and talk to them for an amount of time that exceeds that of the asking of an emergency question. Who do you think you are?" I take a deep breath.

"Captain Wiler, according to the rules, there are not to be any reading materials in the cockpit with the exception of pertinent manuals. That magazine you've been reading doesn't look like a manual to me. And it's also against regulation to bring food and drink, but I only bring something to drink because I believe it is necessary. On top of that, when I bring something to drink, I always put it in a cup that doesn't spill even if you tip it upside down. I don't think your cheeze-its and Coke qualify in the slightest. In all due respect, Captain Wiler, don't talk to me about breaking regulation."

She didn't say a single thing for the rest of the flight.


	10. Songbird- Fleetwood Mac Part Two

_And the songbirds are singing,_

 _Like they know the score,_

Charlotte's P.O.V.

After a solid twelve days in Nowhere, Wyoming, I am more than willing to go home. There is nothing here. Nothing near enough for me to do. Did you know that if you type 'fun things to do in Wyoming' on Google, Google laughs at you and shuts the window? For the entire week, All I've been doing is sitting here, in my hotel room. There are some shopping malls, but you can only shop so much. I tried finding a decent record store to no avail. I ended up just channel surfing most of the time until I found all of the Star Wars films on demand. I watched all of those a few times, because I rented each one for about two days. I also brought a book of poems, but you can only read the whole book so many times. Like I said, I'm ready to go home. This made me incredibly excited when Agent Rossi called me in and told me that his team was, once again, ready for pickup. I was a tad curious why it wasn't Hotchner calling, but I didn't ask. I was so close to calling him myself to ask how long it would have been.

"Can you have the jet ready by tonight at, say, seven?" He asks, even though I feel like it's more of a command than a question.

"Yes, sir. Absolutely. Same terminal. Same Dock."

"Sounds good. Thank you, Captain." He hangs up and I begin celebrating in my hotel room. I was finally going home! In all honesty, I didn't know how long I would have been able to last out here. I pack my bags and take a double take of the room to make sure there is absolutely nothing that I missed. I check my bag and make sure I have everything. When I'm sure I have it all, and my wardrobe is ready and fixed, I ready myself to go to the room that belonged to Captain Wiler. Fortunately, her room ended up on the very opposite wing of the floor. I have a feeling Shonda had something to do with that arrangement. When I knock, at first, there is nothing. I knock louder. Something replies. A loud thud. It sounded like she was punching the wall. When she opens the door, all I can smell are cigarettes and greasy food.

"What do you want?" She asks me. Her eyes are dark and she looks like a freshly deceased corpse, to put it nicely.

"Captain, get ready for departure. We have to ready the jet for the team so we can start flying home around seven O'clock tonight. I'm going to head over so I can get a jumpstart on preliminary objectives. Feel free to join me when you're ready.

Spencer's P.O.V.

The human minds never ceases to amaze me, and that isn't always a good thing. Something people have asked me at lectures I've taught or just in passing is if the mind of a criminal is born like that or if it's the experiences it's been through that make it the way it is. To this day, I can't give an answer to it. It seems like a certain one sometimes, but then you see it the other. It depends on the case. This one was just… odd. If I had to put a label on it, if it had been born or made, I would say that the experiences led up to it, but the potential was always there. This man was never going to be a sane man. He was never going to think like a normal person. And whether that led to him killing six people because of who they reminded him of, and getting shot in return, or if that led to him sitting alone in the middle of a personal care home without experiences to guide him to killing people, it doesn't matter. It's kind of like Schrodinger's experiment with the cat. If you leave a man in solitude in a chamber with food and water, does he go crazy, die, or stay sane? You only know when you open the chamber, and by that time, the man is no longer in solitude, and time is forced to snap and choose an option. Time, for him, chose something somewhat sadder than what could have been for him, We closed the case yesterday evening and my head is still reeling over the whole thing, just trying to understand what he must have felt. This man thought he was alone for years. He thought his family had just… left him. I clear my head as I gather my clothes in my suitcase. I'll be glad to finally get home. I think I'll stop at the bookstore on my way to the airport so I can pick up some more sudokus to do on the way home. We've been here so long, I don't have any more to do. In all honesty, the sudoku book has been done since day five. I need something to do to take my mind off the case.

After all of my bags are packed, I set out to the SUV in front of the hotel. I'm the first one there. I hop into the back seat and wait for everyone else to get their bags ready. I rarely drive us anywhere. Considering the fact that I don't do a lot of driving at home, I don't drive a lot outside of it. When I drive and I see the team's reaction to it, I get the feeling that I don't drive very well. I think I do, but being the passenger is wholly a different experience from being the passenger. I can tell that they don't want to hurt my feelings, but I don't want to hurt them. All in all, I don't mind not driving. Eventually, one by one, some of the team come over and get into the SUV. We normally take two of them. Riding with me this time are Prentiss and Derek. Hotch had to leave about halfway through the case because of some other work related business he had to do, so we just handled this one ourselves. Rossi and JJ are taking the other SUV. In all honesty, and this is just my personal opinion, I don't think Hotch should be going home during a mission if it is to do something that is not directly in his job description. However, that _is_ his prerogative if he wants to do that. I don't think he really _wants_ to do any of it, he's just scared of what Strauss could try to claim on him if he doesn't. I don't blame him, really.

Once everyone is in the car and we're on our way to the small airport we docked in, I ask Derek if we can stop by the bookstore on our way home.

"Pretty boy, you read books in _minutes._ How many books would we have to buy so you could stay busy for the _entire_ plane ride?"

"Well, If we were averaging each book to be about 100,00 words, which would only take me five minutes to read, and I wanted a steady stream of books, and the plane ride is six hours long, that would add up to about seventy-two, give or take a few when you take into account the probable differentiates in the wind patterns when arriving in and when leaving Wyo-"

"Reid," Prentiss interrupts. "We get it. And we do not have the combined money, time, or space for you to pick out seventy-two books and bring them on the plane."

"Well, I understand. I wasn't going to pick out seventy-two. Maybe just ten." I reason, hoping to sway them.

"I'm sorry Reid, we just don't have the time. I wish I would have known you wanted to go. I would have picked up the pace." Derek says with sincerity in his voice.

"Yeah. Me, too. Sorry, Reid. We'll make it up to you next time." I nod my head. Sure, I wanted books, but I don't need them. I have my music. I'm sure that will be enough.

It wasn't enough. Don't get me wrong, my playlist is almost nine hours long, so there's no way I would run out, but ten minutes into my flight, my sudden absence of music reminds me that iPads are things that need to be charged, something I neglected to do, even if I had excess amounts of time to do it. I think about bothering Charlotte, but she's probably sick of me by now. I mean, _she_ didn't seem so, but her co-worker didn't seem to happy. Instead of bothering her like that, I stretch my legs and lay down. I may be a tad tired after that amount of time in one location, especially since it took so long to fix. Normally, I would have a really hard time sleeping like this, normally because of my tendency to not sleep after cases because I tend to ponder over the details, but this is one of the times where the call slumber is much more powerful than normal, and I give in to it, whether I realize I'm giving in or not.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I got the plane up in the air without a hitch. I had to do all prep work alone but in all honesty, that's how I'd prefer it. The only thing that annoyed me was that she was late and took half credit. Nobody knows I was the only one to clean up the entire thing but myself and her. She showed up fifteen minutes before the team was supposed to show up, half-dressed and miserable. She proceeded to take ten to clean herself up, and by the time the team was here, nobody could tell. As they board and shake our hands, I thought I counted one less member than last time. I realize that it was Agent Hotchner that was missing from our presence. I don't know if he's okay or not or if he was running a bit late, though I feel like I would be told if he was.

"Agent Rossi?" I ask him before he went back to sit down.

"Yes, Captain?" He asks. He seems tired, and I feel bad for bothering him, but I figure I'm not being too rude.

"Will Agent Hotchner be joining us, sir?" I asked, making sure to keep everything pleasant and polite.

"Oh, no, Captain. He had to leave early. He just booked a cheap commercial flight home instead of contacting you, because it was just him that needed transportation." I nodded and thanked him for his information. Now that I know that, I kind of almost wish that he would have called me so I could have flown him home and flown back here. I know it's not a lot, but it would have given me more to do than just lazing around in my hotel room, waiting for a cure for my boredom to strike me as it pleased.

As I head back to the cockpit, I take a deep breath. It now dawns upon me that I have to deal with Wiler for another six or seven hours. She didn't seem very pleasant to begin with this morning, so I really don't want to deal with her right now. I take a deep breath as I enter and ready the plane for takeoff.

"You okay with flying?" She says fishing a sleep mask out of her purse. As I buckle into my chair, I know I don't have a choice. However, I'd rather do my job with an incompetent coworker than say I do and _be_ the incompetent coworker.

"Absolutely."

In all honesty, it takes longer for him to knock on the door than normal. He takes an hour or three before I hear the, what has now become standard, knocking on the door. I peek over to Wiler, but she is as fast asleep as she ever has been.

"Come in," I say, quiet enough not to wake Wiler up, but loud enough for me to hear.

"Charlotte?" Spencer calls. I smile at the windshield and tell him to come in.

"Hey. I'm sorry for bothering you, Charlotte. My iPad died, so I don't have music, and my crossword puzzles and things of the like are only interesting for so long. You wouldn't mind talking, would you? Everyone else is asleep." I laugh. Sure, the silence is nice, but I also enjoy having someone to talk to, especially when they're as polite as this guy.

"I never mind talking to you," I say, straightening up in my seat. "So what's on your mind?" I ask.

"The last case, mostly, but I don't want to talk about it much," He says, this line less enthusiastic.

"That's fine. I won't force you to share. Hmmm." I wait for a few moments in silence before coming up with something. "I have it. Okay, Dr. Reid, the fact that people call you 'doctor' instead of 'Mister' signifies that you are heavily educated in _something_. So, I need some advice."

"Just for clarity, those things would be Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering, with some moderate education in Psychology and Sociology. Not bragging, just clarity. What is it you need assistance with?" I laugh at his last comment and continue with my dilemma.

"Okay, so around the Aviation Unit, we have these things called Birdsongs, which are, essentially, nicknames. We call each other by our Birdsongs around the Unit or over private radio comms. These are what we are known as, and I need to come up with one by New Years. These are normally bird or flight-themed. If I don't pick one by New Years, they pick one for me, and while I don't think they hate me enough to give me a bad one, I'd like to pick my own.

"Understandable. Any preferences?"

"Not a lot. I like being different. I thought about Hermes, like the greek god. The messenger?"

"Ah, yes," He says, shifting so he can lean on the side of the entryway beside him. "The one with winged sandals. Wise choice. I'm assuming when you say that, you're expressing that the differing genders doesn't bother you." I think about it for a moment, and then I answer.

"I guess not. I guess I just didn't consider the genders. I mean, I don't think that matters much. Thor was turned into a girl for a new line of Marvel comics. No character is sacred." I take another moment. "I think the only thing that would bother me about the name 'Hermes' is that I don't want people to start calling me 'Hermey' like the Christmas elf. It makes me feel little. I am not little, nor do I have any aspirations of being a dentist." He chuckles and nods his head.

"There's always Helios, the sun god." He asks.

"Oh, yeah. Didn't he drive a chariot across the sky?" I ask, not taking my eyes off the sky, but contorting my face with each emotion I feel.

"Yes. And not only did he drive a chariot, but his chariot was the sun itself. I mean, depending on the version you quote."

"That's pretty. I like that one." He takes a few seconds to think, and then he gets an idea.

"Do you want me to help you make a list? I probably have a notepad or something back with my things-"

"That's a great Idea, but I have a small one in my bag. I think I keep it in the left side pocket. Flip past all of the grocery lists and reminders until you're at a blank page. Sorry for interrupting."

"No, it's fine." He says, already on the floor, rummaging through my things.

"I found it." He says, popping back up to tower above the rest of the cockpit.

"Ooh, try rapid fire. Write down the ones I like."

"Sure thing." He takes a breath to increase the suspense of the situation. " 3, 2, 1."

"Sparrow."

"Eh. Nice, but tiny."

"Feather."

"Feathers don't fly so much as get blown away by the wind."

"Phoenix."

"I'm digging the creativity, but that one was taken by my predecessor."

"Glaucomys"

"What?"

"Flying Squirrels. It's the preceding scientific name of both species of Flying Squirrel."

"Cute. But who could spell it?"

"True."

The entire rest of the plane ride went like that, just him listing names and me replying. It wasn't as boring as it sounds. We would laugh about the funny ones and talk in depth about the creative and clever ones. It was good accompaniment to the changing skyline in front of me. In the last few hours, the names went from serious to funny or even just random.

"You could call yourself Kirk, and then this could be the Starship Enterprise." He giggled, leaning on my seat. The notepad was on the floor now, since I hadn't heard a serious name in a while. I joined in the giggling and covered my face with one hand in playful exasperation.

"That is actually really funny. Are you as big into Star Trek as you are into Star Wars?" He smiles and takes a moment, obviously forming a response in his head.

"toH, HIja'. Hov trek qamuSHa'" I sit there in shock.

"Did you just…"

"Speak in Klingon? Why, yes I did. Do you need me to translate?" I smile widely and look back at him for a moment, and then let my eyes return to the sky.

"Sadly, I am not fluent in Klingon. I need a translation."

"No problem. I said 'Why, yes. I love Star Trek.'" I sit there in awe while he smirks down at me.

"That is… amazing. Props to you, my friend. That is really awesome."

"Why, thank you. Most people just think it's weird." I nod my head slowly, smiling warmly. I know the feeling.

"I don't. I think it's cool."I sense him straighten up, now more confident and happy to know that I don't find his talent a little unnerving. Suddenly, there's a small stirring beside us. Wiler's soft snoring is broken into choppy breaths as she awakes, her hand instinctively going to her hair and her back instantly straightening up. I can tell Spencer is trying to to laugh, but I also notice that he takes a small step back into the doorway, as if he doesn't want her to see him. I look back at him while Wiler is still rubbing at her eyes and cup my hand so she won't hear.

"Hurry, go sit down. We're landing in twenty, anyway. Live long and prosper!" He smiles and walks back to the cabin, but not before stage whispering something in response.

"qaStaHvIS yIn 'ej chep." I think I can safely assume that it was the same call, but in Klingon.

Spencer's P.O.V.

I sat on the plane and watched the landscape amble by as the last twenty minutes of the flight lasted and came to a close. The member of the team awoke one by one and readied their bags to leave. I sit in my seat and smile at the land below. While It didn't resolve my emotions surrounding the last case, talking to Charlotte really did make me feel better. On our way out, I'm the last one of the team members to get off the plane. I stop when I see Charlotte and point to her purse, which is still behind her seat in the cockpit.

"Can I see your notepad? I forgot to write one of the names down."

"Sure! Let me get it." She scurries back to her seat and fishes it out. Her copilot looks on in disapproval. Charlotte comes back and hands me the pad. I scribble down 'Starship Enterprise.' and give it back to her. She laughs and shakes her head.

"Well, It _is_ definitely something to consider." She shakes my hand as she had done with all of the team members and looks back down at the notepad.

"Goodnight, Charlotte."

"Goodnight, Spencer."

By the time I get home, It's four in the morning, but my mind feels like it's only eleven. Unsurprisingly, my brain doesn't feel like sleeping. I head into my apartment and relax with a book. Out of all the books I have, I decide to go with a more lighthearted science fiction novel as compared to one about physics or sociology. In all honesty, it feels almost weird not to have some type of music playing. Charlotte normally doesn't have issue playing music at odd hours. I guess it's the same sort of mentality for people with hamsters, or songbirds that sing way into the night. I set the book down harder than necessary. songbird. Songbird. Charlotte is a Songbird. It's clever, concise, pronounceable, and describes herself perfectly. I don't know if I should wait until tomorrow or not. I don't know if she's working tomorrow or not, and I don't know what time she wakes up. I doubt she's sleeping. I slip into my shoes and haphazardly throw my coat onto my shoulders as I jog out of my apartment and onto the elevator. I press her floor and slip my arms into my coat, and it only now presses me that I probably didn't need to bring a coat to go to a different apartment within the same building. I find her apartment and knock on it quietly. I hear something from inside, so I'm pretty sure she's not asleep. She answers after a minute and a half of silence.

"Spencer? Hi. Is something wrong?" She asks. I suppose my urgent manner and visiting her at the time of night could allude to that.

"No. Charlotte, Songbird!" I say. She's confused, looking me up and down, making sure I'm not bleeding out, on fire, or on drugs. I try to make myself more clear.

"Your Birdsong. Why not Songbird? Short, not to hard to say, and if I say so myself, pretty clever." Her face contorts for a while, from confusion warming to conspiring, and ending in excitement.

"Songbird," She whispers down the hall in curious excitement.

"Songbird." I reassure.

"Songbird!"

"You're beginning to like it?"

"That's the best one yet! I love it! Thank you so much. I mean, not that _Enterprise_ was a bad choice, but this one is just way more universal." I watch her glowing face beam in lit joy, and suddenly, I'm really happy that I didn't just try to find her number and call.

"I thought of it because of your music. You don't make it or sing or anything, but if people hear you doing something, it's playing music. It's you, unabashed and wholeheartedly." She seems touched by my words. She holds one of her hands to her chest as if so. She quickly brushes her hair out of her face and, once again, looks me up and down.

"Thank you, Spencer. That's very nice of you to say."

"It was a very honest thing for me to say." I don't know why I say that. Why did I say that? I hope she'll brush it off as nothing. Thankfully, she does. She checks the time on her phone and looks back at me.

"What are you still doing up?" She asks, as if she herself isn't up at this time. "It's four A.M."

"I've always had some issues with getting to sleep, especially after a case in which I had to get used to a new timezone. I have a day off tomorrow, so I figure I can catch up on my sleep then." She nods her head and gestures inside.

"I'm the same way. I don't work tomorrow, and I figured, it's already morning, so I'm just going to last until tomorrow night and crash. How were you planning on spending your wee hours of this morning?" I straighten up and look down the hall, and then back at her.

"I was reading. You?"

"It's actually kind of serendipitous that you were here. You were speaking Klingon on the flight home, and it made me want to watch _Star Trek_. I'm assuming you can guess what I just set up to play on Netflix."

"Star Trek?"

"Bingo! I'm actually really excited. I made popcorn and everything. But the great thing about that is that it can be paused." She says, stepping back from the door and opening it a little wider.

"Do you want to come in? Talk for a while inside instead of in the hallway? I can make you tea or something." I should say no. I've probably been intruding and she probably wants to hint that I should be leaving. Am I intruding? Does she actually want to invite me inside? Not many people have actually done that before. I try to test my boundaries, to see if she's being serious.

"I'm actually more of a coffee guy, myself." She smirks at me and opens the door wider.

"Perfect. Two cups coming up." I hesitate before I make my first step in.

"I don't think I'll need that much right away."

"Obviously. I need a cup for myself." She jokes. I finally decide that, yes, Charlotte does actually want to invite me inside, and that, no, I'm not bothering her. This is the type of thing that friends do. I think Charlotte is my friend. In all honesty, it's a weird feeling. I haven't made a real new friend since I joined the BAU.

"Any suggestions on good episodes I can watch? I mean, I've already gone through them all. I just can't decide."

"Well, every episode is good," I say, my eyes darting from the television to the rest of her apartment. I know I should have seen this coming, but it has an eerily similar structure to my own. "I can really appreciate the contrast of Shatner's Picard to Stewart's Kirk in between series. Personally, I feel like Patrick Stewart was a better actor and overall character. Shatner just seemed to overreact to a lot of stuff. Not that I didn't like the original series. I just enjoy one better than the other." She nods as she's making the coffee.

"I feel that." She stops in her tracks and looks over at me.

"Do you want to watch some? We can pick an episode and watch and talk about them. You're fun to talk to, especially when concerning things like this. If you don't, I get it. I mean, I just thought it would be fun. If you wanted to go back, I woul-"

"Sure! Can we start at the beginning? I like the establishing plot points, even if they're not as good or intricate as the ones in later seasons. Also, do you have any hand sanitizer?" She returns from the kitchen where the coffee maker is already whining and numbers her replies in her hands.

"Yes, we can start at the beginning. I agree with the point about the plot points. And no, I don't think I have sanitizer. I have antibacterial hand soap in my bathroom. Is that good enough?" It's not my favorite, but it's better than nothing.

"Yep. I'll be back. Thanks for the coffee, Charlotte."

"It was nothing."

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I think I made a friend today. Yes, that's what this feels like. I made a friend. A real one.


	11. Something Inside- Jessie Ware

_Offer me something inside_

 _A place to go, a place to hide_

 _Offer me something inside_

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I get along with him much better than I thought I would. I mean, granted, we got along on the plane pretty well, but we could talk about more than just passing subjects. It was nice. As I got him his coffee and myself my own, I saw him take a pill bottle out of his jacket.

"I hope you don't mind, I get headaches. I can take this with coffee." I smile.

"You're not the only one. I have type one diabetes, so I have to do a certain amount of math with every meal. I have to take shots of insulin with meals and glucose tablets in between." I head over to the kitchen counter and retrieve my insulin and my glucose tablets, even though I don't plan on taking those soon. I turn around and hold them up.

"Twins." I say, shaking the pill bottle. I sit down on my couch in front of the television, and invite him to sit down with me silently not before sticking the syringe in my mouth so I could have a free hand to pat the couch with my hand. He gingerly sits down and takes his medication with his coffee. After he sits, I carefully put a small shot full of insulin into my arm before consuming my coffee.

"Shall we begin?" I ask, still kind of weirded out that for once, I am watching television with someone other than myself. It's not a bad feeling, it's just kind of… new? Like when you move a piece of furniture or get a tooth removed and you can feel where it was and it doesn't bother you. It's just new. Was is a mistake inviting him in? Do I know him well enough to have him here? I mean, he doesn't _seem_ like a serial killer. He doesn't seem weirded out or uncomfortable, he actually seems… what's the word? _At home._ Like he's comfortable with being here. I suddenly realize that I haven't had a houseguest in my life, and don't know how to handle one.

"Oh! I'm so sorry. Did you want cream or sugar? I don't really like to add anything to my coffee for taste and also the whole 'diabetic' thing."

"Uh, No cream. I'm lactose intolerant. I'll have some sugar, please." I got up and took his coffee back to the kitchen, recieving my sugar container from the cupboard underneath the sink.

"How much? And is regular sugar okay?" He looks over from the couch.

"Yeah, fine. And is six tablespoons too much?"

"Six?"

"Too much? If you don't want to, I can do whatever." I recoil in my head. I just made him feel bad about his coffee choices, didn't I? Have I become a Sloan?

"I mean, that's not bad. Coffee choices are a personal prerogative. Six is fine. I have no problem with it." I say, clinging on for dear life to the one and only houseguest I have ever and possibly will ever get.

"No, no. I get it. You should see the people I work with when we make our coffee in the morning. Even the barista at the coffee shop I go to thought I was joking the first time I actually ordered coffee. She asked me and everything. You're fine."

"Great. Six tablespoons of sugar coming up. If you keep this up, I could give you a free membership to the Diabetes club. Free of charge, seriously." What. The. Hell. Am. I. Saying. If I wasn't making him upset before, I am now. I most certainly definitely probably am now. To my surprise, instead of standing up and walking out the front door, he laughs.

"It's okay. Our meetings can consist of Star Wars marathons and gummy worms followed by insulin injections." Now, it's my turn to laugh.

"We can do Doctor Who night once every few weeks and order Jelly babies for the occasion."

"Perfect. Just keep downing the sugar with a side of coffee, Spencer." I say, finally finished with the sugar. As I walk over and hand it to him, he looks at the mug like it's the most delicious thing ever.

"I'll be there in no time." His smile reassures me that I'm not driving him away. It makes me happy. It reminds me of a puppy, or a child. It's a very happy smile.

We start watching a few episodes of season one. And then we watch more. and more. We take breaks between episodes. Myself to offer opinions and questions and observations on concepts, actors, and general aspects of the show. He always replies with more observations, fun facts, and answers. We go on like that for much, much longer than anticipated. We finish watching around nine o'clock in the morning. We look like animals that had been left in a cave for months, but we don't seem to care, and while our general amount of energy goes down as we watch, no matter how much coffee we drink, we never get tired of talking. It was only when we realize that we have been binge watching for over five hours that we decide to stop. I don't even know how many episodes it was after when we realize it. The sun peeks through the blindfolds in my kitchen window, casting itself across the linoleum floor of the kitchen and onto the fuzzy carpet of the floor in the living room, trailing its way up to our eyes.

"Is that…" I mutter, squinting as the window like it was something to be feared.

"Sunlight. That means that it's day. Morning." I laugh and cover my face to hide from the light.

"Doctor Reid?"

"Captain Wills?"

"Do you think it's possible that we let this get a little bit out of hand, Doctor Reid?"

"That is entirely possible and very likely, Captain Wills." He chuckles a little and rubs his face with both of his hands.

"Splendid." I say, finally standing up. My legs make sounds when I stand up that would make a bowl of rice crispies envious. I look back at the television. The preview screen is of a few Klingons speaking to each other.

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"No, not at all. What is it?" I sit for a second, nodding at the Klingons on the television, finally taking in how sleep deprived I really am.

"So we have just watched," I pause, trying to remember how many episodes it was, but I can't remember. "a lot of Star Trek, and I could not gather a single word of Klingon. Not that it would be easy, but I figured after so many episodes I would start picking stuff up. You know, buzzwords. I, Me, It, You. Things like that." He looks like he's trying to hold in a smile, but I ignore it and go on.

"However, I couldn't pick up a single thing. Now, I know it sounds preposterous that I would try to do it, but it got me through, like, a year of high school french vocabulary. So, please explain to me how you were able to learn the language." He nods, finally standing up himself and stretching.

"You see, I didn't learn from the show. There was a book. My mother got it for me for Christmas a few years back. I read it and inadvertently taught myself. I have an eidetic memory, so I remember everything I read." I straighten up.

"That's really interesting. One second, my hair is just a mess." I jog to my room and grab my hairbrush and come back out right after. Spencer is looking at my bookshelf, skimming the titles at his eye level.

"Good poetry," He says, turning back when I return to the room. "I really enjoy Poe, too." I smile.

"I don't know, I just think his imagination was so under-credited. I mean, yes, he was dark and scary and a genius, but look at what he could think of.

"Right? Especially the Pit and the Pendulum. He came up with such an elaborate piece of machinery and yet explained it so clearly all the while making an effective metaphor for hell and… I'm sorry. I just get really carried away." He had just stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence. Like he was going to say something, and then he just… stopped. I hope it wasn't something I said.

"But yes, he was a genius." He says, looking back up at me from the ground.

"Takes one to know one." I raise my eyebrow, turning around and making my way back to my kitchen.

"Coffee?" I ask, opening the cupboard under the sink, retrieving the sugar already.

"No thanks, I should probably head back to my apartment. Not that I didn't enjoy this, I should probably change clothes and head to town. I need food and some other groceries." I smile, internally trying to brush off the feeling that he thinks I trapped him in my apartment.

"Sure." I say, putting the sugar away and pouring my own cup after. "Thanks for Netflix binging with me. I appreciate it. I'm sorry that it lasted so long, I had no clue it was going to go on." He leans on the island in the middle of the kitchen, throwing his hair out of his face.

"Don't be sorry. I had fun. It was great." I turn around and just smile, with my head turned. I could hear the sincerity laced in his words like a harmony in a symphony. Something pops into my head, like a tap on the shoulder.

"One second." I say, running back to my room to get my purse that I had thrown in my room. In my purse, I fished around until I found my notebook and pen. On a new page, I scribbled my number neatly enough for him to read it and signed my name beneath it. I fold it in half and walk back out to meet Spencer, who furrows his eyebrows and stares at me in confusion as I walk.

"Here. So we can schedule those meetings for the Diabetes club, and so you don't have to come up to my apartment if you want to talk to me." He smiles and puts my number into his pocket after looking at my number scribbled on the paper and shaking his head.

"Perfect. Thank you so much for the fun evening, Charlotte. I really enjoyed myself." He says. I open the door for him, hoping it doesn't look like I'm trying to get him out.

"No, no. Thank you for the company. I don't really get a lot. It was really nice." He looks back up at me just before he walks out.

"Anytime."

Spencer's P.O.V.

I walk down the hall, finally realizing how heavy the lack of sleep was on my eyes. Well, that and the fact that I've been looking at a television screen for the past five hours might have something to do with it.I really appreciate the fact that she gave me her number. I don't use my phone at all really, but it was a nice thing to do out of courtesy, and I _will_ use it. And also, by giving me a way to get in touch with her expressly, she is communicating that she sincerely enjoys my presence and would like to be in it again. I press the elevator button and head down to my apartment. I know I said that I needed to run errands, and I'm not a liar. I do have errands to run, but now that I'm up and walking, I think I need to lay down. When I get to my apartment, I head back to my bedroom, clean and cold and dark. I grab the nearest blanket and lay down on the bed. I tell myself that it's only for a minute, two at best. Just to gain energy. However, before my conscious can interrupt, I'm falling asleep, content and at peace.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I watch Spencer go down the hall and to the elevator before I turn back to my apartment. That felt… nice. Human contact outside of work. Not that I haven't had that- I've just had a minimal amount of it. I didn't really do friends in college, or in Elementary school. High school was a bit different. I had 'friends.' They were nice people. Mostly girls. We'd get together after school and go see movies and go to dinner. I never liked the movies they wanted to see. They always loved comedies, and I have no problem with them. I just never loved typical 'teen' movies. They all seemed so shallow. I told them I enjoyed the movie when the movie was over. I tried making friends with the kinds of people who liked what I liked, but most of them were boys. The only thing wrong with that was the fact that I was a girl, and they didn't take too kindly to girls. Do I know what my interest in Star Wars had to do with my genitals? Of course not. However, it somehow made all of the difference to them. I told my mom that I just preferred being alone in my room, doing what I liked alone. After some time, I genuinely did, out of necessity if nothing else. Whatever had just happened, the impromptu television marathon and fireside chats about whatever we watched. It was different than high school. It was like having another me to talk to. Except, this me was smart and funny and _wasn't_ me. I think they call them friends. Yes. Today, Spencer not only made the second member of the Science Fiction Diabetes Club, but he became the first member of the Charlotte's Friend Society, and he doesn't even know that.

After he left, I decide to take some poetry off of the wall and lay down on the couch. Sleep is so compelling, but I know I need to try and stay awake until tonight so I'm not on some bizarre sleep schedule that I'm barely off of when I need to go back to work. Before I do so, I skim through my records and find a familiar album that would suit the poetry perfectly. Something light and not too distracting. The poetry? Poe would be a good pick, but I always pick Poe. I decide on Plath. I promise I don't just read dark things, I just like Plath. Halfway through my first poem. The _first_ poem, my phone rings. I half expect it to be Spencer, testing the number to make sure he read it right, but no. I've saved this number in my phone. I don't block it out of fear that he would come to my house to make sure I was okay. I'll give you three guesses as to who it is. No warning texts, nothing. He made himself known as suddenly and loudly as possible. Now, no matter how much I absolutely _hate_ the presence of Sloan, I hate the idea of hurting him. Wait. No, I really don't. However, I don't want to make it seem like I am mad at him. If I'm going to break away from this suckerfish, I need to peel it off very slowly until he doesn't even realize that he isn't attached anymore. I need to just keep declining and declining. Why? Because if he knows that I'm mad at him and I just come out with it in an instant, he will never leave me alone. He'll keep calling and apologizing, and if there's anything worse than Sloan, it is a Sloan who is desperate to be forgiven. If you forgive him for it to try to get him to leave you alone, he'll start texting and calling. Again. See? It's a vicious cycle. So the only way out of this terrible cycle, is to slowly start leaving until he doesn't want to look for you anymore. The only way to get him to go away is to endure.

"Hello?" I ask. I can't hear anything at first. All I can hear is heavy breathing. Heavy mouth breathing. His. I can't tell if he's just nervous or if he can't hear me because he doesn't have a signal.

"Hello?" Again, I ask. More mouth breathing. I stand up and move around. If I ask again and he just wants to breathe into my ear like a loon, he can do that, but I _will_ hang up.

"Hello?" I finally ask. I am three seconds away from hanging up and turning my phone off when he actually says something. It's shaky and nervous. It's like I can hear him sweating over the phone.

"Y-you. Me. T-tonight. At Th-th-the Steel Crane. Eight. Meet me the- there. Wear somethin' n-n-nice." Before I can interrupt of object, he hangs up. I don't even know how to respond. To call or not to call? If I call, I have to talk to him some more. Maybe if I don't, and I don't show up, he'll realize that, what he just did, is not okay. Especially for how well we know each other. We don't. He didn't give me time to reply, and because of that, I just won't. I won't show up, either. I know he'll try to apologize, but that was so rude, and that is not an okay way to treat me.

I turn my phone off and throw it onto my bed. As I read Plath's words one after another, poem after poem, I feel some weird sort of ethereal to do what, I don't know. I end up staring at the wall, just thinking about whatever. Eventually, this thinking slows, and as the sun recedes closer to the horizon, my mind drifts closer to sleep. However, I was so far on my way, I reach sleep way before the sun meets the horizon.

When I wake up, I see that the sun has set. I wonder what time it is, also curious how far I am off of my original sleep schedule. It's pretty dark, so I'm assuming I'm pretty far off. I check the kitchen clock. It's eleven. Not as bad as it could be. But still not good. I pop a cup of ramen into the microwave and set it to _cook while I go get my phone. I'm assuming any damage done by Sloan is over, and I can delete it and get it over with. Surprisingly, there is nothing. At all. I don't really understand, but I d_ on't care. A few minutes after I turn my phone off, I actually get a text. At first, I assume Sloan didn't get the message and is trying to ask what happened, but it's a number I don't recognize.

 _Dear Charlotte,_

 _Open your front door_

 _From, Spencer._

I'm speechless for a moment. It makes me smile, but also a bit apprehensive. What is he planning? I head to the door and look through the peephole. I can't see anything, but I open the door anyways. There's something on the mat. It's a paper bag with my initials on it.

 _C.W._

I take it in my hand and carry it inside after looking both ways down the halls. I set it on the table in my kitchen and sit down. I put my hand inside the bag and pull out a book and a cassette tape. It's _Star Trek: Conversational Klingon_ on cassette and _Star Trek: The Klingon Dictionary._ I smile and open the dictionary. There's a sticky note on the inside.

 _If you don't have something that can play cassettes, I can lend you something. Hope you enjoy. -Spencer_

This made me happy, and warm on the inside. This was it, that final no questions confirmation that I had a friend. One that spoke Klingon, no less. He was a nerd, but he was kind. One that I definitely would love to keep. After that, It was a good night. I don't know if it was teaching myself Klingon words until I, again, fell asleep, or if it was the un-interruption from Sloan. Either way, whatever it was, it was a good night. After I read enough and before I fell asleep, I sent Spencer a text in return.

 _nuqneH. Qapla', spencer. :)_

 _Thank you. Good Night, Spencer :)_


	12. Of a Friday Night- Anais Mitchell

_I'll be a good time gambler_

 _I'll be a restless wife_

 _I'll be a midnight writer_

 _out in the quarter on a Friday night_

Charlotte's P.O.V.

Christmas came, and Christmas went. I never actually got a call from my mom asking if I was coming down. This wasn't my first Christmas alone, and she always calls when she wants to discuss dates for me to come home. I didn't mind. I spent Christmas in my apartment, looking at the snow outside. At one point, I decided that because he was the only person who gave me a present close to Christmas at all, (Besides Shonda, who gave me a long sleeve jacket with my Birdsong on the back.) I should get Spencer something. Because I didn't buy presents for anyone else, and I had gotten more than a few paychecks, I actually had some money to buy him something that wasn't in the clearance section of any store. I decided on something Star Trek, because that's what he got me. Now, he doesn't wear his fandom on his sleeve, but he seems to like the subtle things, like my Chewbacca key chain. I went to a website that deals exclusively in geeky clothing. I decided on a blue tie with the Star Trek logo on the bottom with the same pattern as the uniform on the show. I think he's like that. I had some coupon codes for the site, so I decided that I could get him one more thing. I like the pens. He probably uses tons of those. I get him a pen with a snowglobe-ish end, and floating in it was the _Enterprise_. I thought he'd like that. Once they came in the mail, I put them on his front doorstep in a box, not too flashy or anything. I wouldn't want someone to take it off of his doorstep. I sent him a text when I got to my own apartment.

 _Dear Spencer,_

 _Merry Christmas. Open your front door._

 _From, Charlotte._

I waited for him to open the text, and then open his gifts. I waited for what seemed like longer than it should have been.

 _Dear Charlotte,_

 _Merry Christmas. The uniform is a perfect fit. And this document phaser will do very well in my logs. Thank you very much :.)_

 _Spencer_

I smiled at his text. Hey, at least something could make me smile on Christmas. I worked a lot of Christmas, but thank god there was no flying. Shonda actually wanted someone to help her with her paperwork, so I gratefully volunteered, Jacket hanging squarely on my shoulders. I tried giving her a gift in front of everyone else. Nothing much, just a coffee mug with a cute saying on it. She yelled at me first, because we aren't supposed to give gifts.

"But my jacket?"

"We call it 'uniform,'" She noted, giving me a conspiratorial wink. She leaned into me and mumbled something.

"However, the back room has no qualms regarding gifts." I nodded like she had just told me something reprimanding and headed back to the back room, which we used mainly for inventory. Shonda was thrilled to open the mug and see the phrase on it.

"I'm your Mom. Your argument is invalid." She giggled again at the words on the mug. "Charlotte, I love this. Thank you. It's so thoughtful."

"It was nothing." I replied. If my real mother wasn't getting a gift, at least my work mom could. Shonda and I worked on her paperwork until New Years. I had taken a few days off over New years, even though I had no plans. I just hated the idea of getting rid of holiday break entirely.

Now, I'm back to work. I get a text as I'm getting ready for work.

 _Are you scheduled to fly today?_

 _Spencer._

It's funny, because I am. I had gotten the call from Shonda the day before, forewarning that I was scheduled for a flight out the next day. Somewhere in New Mexico. I had to dig all through my closet to find the summer clothes I had discarded from my closet shelves the instant fall had come. I found them, and I packed them as smartly as possible, so I wouldn't again be accused of overpacking.

 _I am. Why?_

I wait for a while, and then I get a text back.

 _Just curious. I'm flying out early for a case tomorrow. Can't talk on the flight there because I actually have to work on my way over. Sorry._

My heart sinks a little. It's fine that he has to work, but now I have to spend an entire flight from D.C. to New Mexico with Wiler. I hope she just sleeps. I gather my things, give the place a quick once-over, and then, with Chewie in hand, I head out to make my first flight of the new year.

When I get to the Aviation Unit Headquarters, I am surprised to find it pretty quiet. the few techies that were there were silently doing their job, not talking to each other in any way. I couldn't hear any pilots getting ready to head out, and, shockingly, I couldn't see or even _hear_ Shonda from anywhere. Once I get to my locker to grab a few things and head out, I finally hear her.

"There she is. How's it going, Songbird?" I turn around, and find myself in shock. Instead of being dressed in her typical uniform, she was dressed in a typical pilot's uniform, exactly like the one I was wearing.

"Oh, dear. Now, one of us has to change." She bursts into laughter and gives me a hug once she makes her way to me.

"Now, are you ready to fly _for real_?" She asks. "With a co-pilot that actually _does things?_ " I feel my eyes widen and I hug her again.

"Yes. God, yes. Thank you."

"I would tell you to be careful or Wiler could see us, but that's precisely why I'm on this assignment. She's visiting grandkids, I think."

"Awesome." I say, sighing in relief as I say it.

"So? Let's set that plane up for takeoff."

Spencer's P.O.V.

To Diana Reid

Vegas Regional Mental Health Care Institution

157 Cresthill Rd. Las Vegas, NV

Dear Mom,

Happy New Year! Sorry again for not being able to come down over Christmas. I tried, but all of the flights on the days I would have needed to be in and out by were taken and there were no buses going that far for a fair amount of money. I'm so sorry. I promise I'll make it up for you. Today we're headed towards New Mexico. No rest for the wicked, right? The last time I've heard something bad happen in New Mexico was in 2009 when the bodies of the West Mesa bone collector were found in a 92-acre stretch of land. Women aging from 15 to 32, some of them addicted to drugs, and most of them Spanish. I can only hope this doesn't end up having a larger body count. So far, officials say that they're at 4, and the West Mesa Bone collector had 11, so we're at a low number to start. I had to do a lot of research prior to our outing and we still did tons of research while on the plane. However, the work done in D.C. was gathering information, and on the plane, it's like cross referencing information with information that the others. On the last few flights, I haven't had to do much work, because we flew out at a time that would require sleep before we got there. Now, we're just flying out at seven D.C. time, and we get there around nine in New Mexico time. That's fine with me. However, on the last plane rides, instead of sleeping, I've been talking with the pilot instead. I know, I really should have been sleeping, but it's been a bit hard lately. Never fear, however. I caught up on my sleep during winter break.

Anyways, the pilot. I found out that she's my upstairs neighbor. She's a nice lady. She likes Star Trek and Star Wars and she has a little Chewbacca keychain on her keys. She likes talking to me on the plane rides because her co-pilot doesn't really do much. We talk about lots of things. She actually invited me over one time so we could watch Star Trek once, so I guess you could say that we're friends now. I'm glad. She actually got me a present for Christmas, to which I was pleased but also appalled by. I would have figured she'd be with her family, but I couldn't hear anything upstairs. I think she spent Christmas alone. Granted, I did too. Maybe she couldn't catch a flight, either. I can't talk to her today because I have to work, but I think she understands. Maybe we can get some pizza after the case is over.

In the bullpen before we had to get going, I studied away at the files while the rest of my team did the same. Well, most of them. Hotch seemed a bit out of sorts today, but Derek tried talking him out of it. I would ask him about why he seems more serious than usual, but I think I'll wait for the case to be over. I don't want him to think I'm not focusing. Rossi was focusing on the past victims in the general vicinity, JJ was looking at the past crime rates, and I was looking at the geographical profile to see if there were any major landmarks or types of landscapes that would impact the killer's ritual, burial patterns, or hunting grounds in any way. Derek was looking into what each of the victims did, while Rossi was looking at the profile of them in general to see if he had a type. Eventually, Hotch made his rounds and told us all to gather our stuff, because wheels were going up in five. He says five, but he never means it. He means to be on the plane in five. the wheels normally go up in ten or fifteen. I grab a quick coffee before gathering my files and heading out to the plane. Charlotte is there like she always is, waiting to shake the hand of each BAU member as they get on the plane. There's a new co-pilot with her. This one is younger, but still older than Charlotte. She has hair that curls excitedly underneath her hat and her smile is very warm. She seemed much nicer than Charlotte's last co-pilot.

"Shonda Pierce. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Captain." I say, shaking her hand kindly and then moving on to Charlotte.

"Captain Wills,"

"Doctor Reid," She says, almost amusingly. We don't really call each other by our official names anymore.

"Six teaspoons?" She asks, peering into my coffee cup as if she'll see six little islands of sugar floating around.

"Nope. Eight. It's a work day." I smile and turn around and head into the cabin of the plane. I hear her laugh along with her new co-pilot and head back into the cockpit. I hope that this one isn't as unkind in the cockpit as the last one.

The flight was fine, not bumpy or anything, so I assume all is fine up front. In the cabin, we all trade ideas concerning the unsub. Unlike the West Mesa Bone Collector, this unsub put all of his victim's bodies in different abandoned wells in New Mexico. The first body was found seven years ago when the owner of the land wanted to uproot the well and have it fixed. Then, the body was assumed to be there for at least three years. The one that was found next was five years ago and that body was thought to have been there for seven years, predating the time of death for the first body found. The next two were found together last month in an old well that was to be moved for an oil line. Nobody really thought they were connected until someone pointed out a consistency in the murders. Every victim had the same material under their fingernails. It was a type of dirt indigenous to the state. Most people would dismiss it as the victims fighting for their lives and being dragged away, but these people were all dumped in very different areas, all lived in different areas, usually far away from the dump site, and they all had the same specific kind of dirt under their fingernails. This re-launched the investigation. After a period of nothing, we were called in to see if we would be able to get a profile on the type of person who would do this. We aren't given much of a choice. JJ goes through them and decides which cases are worth doing next. I wonder what she considers when she looks at them. What factors?

We set up station at the local police station and start bouncing new ideas off of each other, again comparing what we told each other on the plane. After some speculation, Hotch sends a few of us to one body site and a few others to another. That was all we were planning to do for the day, considering the fact that the bodies were all found in completely different parts of the state. Not different ends, but it's far enough away that it makes for a pretty decent road trip. Derek was with me for the entire time. We argued about the music choice before we started going, but I swayed him. I told him that if he chose the music, I got to drive the car. Halfway into Beethoven's Sonata No. 14, I started writing to you. You know, I've never really understood why he doesn't want me to drive. I have a license. I think I drive well. Derek and I are going to ask victim number two's grave founder about the circumstances in which he found it. Not that he'll be able to tell us anything new, but anything helps.

So that's my day so far. Sorry I've been a bit more spastic with the letters. I've been really busy lately, and when I'm not doing something, I'm trying to sleep. I promise, I'll come down and visit you very soon and make up for everything.

I'll love you forever and ever and always,

Spencer.

Hotch's P.O.V.

I am not someone who is easily paranoid. Personally, I don't think I'm paranoid, but Derek says otherwise.

In my professional opinion, I don't think I am as big of a threat to Strauss's job as she acts like I am. Every time Jack has a game, I _magically_ end up having to do some sort of extra work. The fact that it's extra would imply that I don't have to do it, but Strauss then has some implications of her own. Every time I try to get out of it, she tells me that I should be up for it. That I should have been ready for whatever hardships come with it when I accepted this job. It's gotten so bad that I'm tempted to take a sick day the next time I know Jack has a game. With my luck, Strauss would show up just to check on me. Even just this last week, I was getting ready to go to a practice for Jack's soccer team so I could watch him play, and Strauss had me stay after to talk about team dynamics in other teams as well as my own, not conveying any message other than 'I can do what I want.' Even this morning, she called me on my way to work while I was driving Jack to school and I had to let him get out without saying anything because I had to talk to Strauss. I don't think she'd be this nitpicky if she was up to something. When I get to work, I ask Derek about it.

"Have you noticed Strauss acting differently lately?"

"Strauss? Not that I can tell. She's as strict as ever. I'm just glad that she's been leaving us alone for a bit."

"That's the thing." I said. "She's not. She hasn't left me alone in ages. It's always some sort of extra stuff or an extra assignment and I always manage to pull overtime even when I don't want to." Derek looks me up and down.

"Then just say no. That's what I would do, and personally, what I would imagine you would do." I sigh and lean on one of the railings looking over the bullpen.

"I thought about it, but every time I bring it up she mentions that she can call in someone to do an analysis of my team and my leadership skills."

"Are you worried about them?"

"Of course not, but I don't need some person coming in here, interviewing each of you one at a time for something they aren't going to disclose. Garcia would probably have a heart attack." Derek stands there and thinks for a second.

"Maybe she needs more help. I mean, she's still relatively young, but perhaps she needs it." I can appreciate that he's trying to be more understanding of someone he may not like because of past actions, but I feel like he doesn't understand the frequency to which this happens.

"I don't think she does. She seems to do fine while I'm there. She just wants me there to have me there. It's like she enjoys using me for fruitless tasks" Derek sighs and looks at me with a stern look on his face. If I was in a humorous mood, I would tell him I was proud.

"Hotch, I understand that Strauss may need you more now, but you shouldn't think of it as some cruel act of dominance. She might actually need you now, and I think you might be having more trouble accepting that because of how she has acted in the past. It probably just _seems_ like she's targeting you because she has in the past, but I think she wouldn't be so foolish as to do so again. You're fine." That's what he says. I thank him for his advice, even though I'm actually not going to use it. I know what he says makes sense, but I'm not getting that feel from what's happening. I brush it off and start talking to the rest of my team, readying them for our flight into New Mexico tonight.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I don't know how flying works with other people in the Aviation Unit, but what I had been doing before was not Aviation Unit flying. Shonda split the work evenly. She smiled and joked with me and used every rule in the book properly without being a stick in the mud.

"So, any plans for when we get there?" Shonda asks me without taking her eyes off of the sky.

"Nope. Normally, I just sit in my hotel room and do things. The places I've been so far haven't been too exciting."

"That won't happen here. I know a bunch of little great shops and things we can do while we're here. There's this pizzeria to die for. I checked the town online before flying."

"That's actually… really smart. Thanks."

"Anytime. There's this market I want to go to. They open on Saturday evenings. Entertainment, music, vendors. The whole nine. Do you want to hitch a ride?"

"Well, I mean, sure!" It was the first time I had ever had fun on a plane

It was the first time I had ever had fun on a trip, either. More specifically, the work ones. It normally just consisted of lying around and trying not to kill Wiler and Star Wars marathons, but this trip was fun. The malls were so expansive I had to physically restrain myself not to buy things. The vendors gave us crowns of actual flowers for almost nothing and the entertainment was diverse and loud and it ranged from anything from a saxophone orchestra to a troop of fire eaters.

"When I was little, I thought about doing that." Shonda confessed. "I could eat the spiciest thing my dad gave me, and not even break a sweat. I found out later that it was two _very_ different kinds of heat."

"Really? Before I wanted to pilot Air Force One, I always wanted to be a travelling photographer, so I could take pictures and go places. I'm terrible at taking pictures, but I just wanted a job that involved travel. That was before I started flying. The instant I was in the air, I knew I wanted to fly." Shonda nodded as we both indulged in three scoop ice cream cones at the pizzeria she had mentioned earlier.

"Can you imagine if we did the jobs we wanted to do as kids? My esophagus would be charred!"

"And I'd probably be homeless." I mumbled to my ice cream with a goofy grin.

"Hey, you never know." She smiled. She was small, but geez. She could pack away food like none other. I was almost done with my first scoop and she was already chowing down on the one.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask.

"Shoot."

"Why were you so… confident in me? Before I took my flight test. You acted like you already knew me. Like you knew I was worth something more than my appearance would lead you to believe. Why?"

"Because you are. The transcript of your original interview had been shared with me, and your answers… They spoke to me. You want to do good, and you're willing to help in any way you can to see it. Especially if you _can_ see it. Being the pilot of something big like that was a job that was just right up your alley. I can tell you knew what you were doing with your life."

"Really? Shonda, that means so much. I was scared my initial interview wasn't too strong at first. It feels good to know you took something from it. Did you call my former commanding officer."

"Nope." She says, looking intently at her soda, stealing a sip after her sentence.

"Why?"

"I graduated with him, even dated him for awhile. Jackass." I giggled and my head went into my cone. Shonda went to other tables to get napkins so I could wipe the frozen treat of of my face. Suddenly, Shonda's phone rings.

"Hello?" She asks, official-sounding. I have an idea or two as to who it could be.

"Yes, sir. That's fine. We'll be ready by six P.M. Tomorrow. Yes. Thank you, Agent." She hangs up and returns to the table where I have handled the previous disaster.

"Tomorrow at six?" I ask.

"Tomorrow at six." She repeats.

"Shonda?"

"Charlotte?"

"I know you're my mama bird, but you're my friend, right?" She sits there for a second, processing what I had been saying.

"I would be kind of offended if you said we weren't"

Charlotte's Friend Club, now with two members.

Spencer's P.O.V.

The case wasn't as terrible as it could have been. It was a male unsub who was borderline abusive with his wife and family. He faced several triggering events throughout the course of his life, and the only way he would be able to cope was by killing someone. As soon as he offed one, the abuse stopped for awhile. That is, until he started getting more and more irritated until another triggering event happened and he killed again. Nobody's lives but his were at stake, because only a month or so ago, his family left him. He killed another person very recently and brought us to the burial site. Surprisingly, this unsub had at least seven victims. This case was a lot less stressful than the others had been because of the pace, and I was thankful for that.

On the day we were scheduled to leave, I was looking for places to eat lunch. Chinese food sounded too salty, sushi sounded too cold. I wanted pizza.

"Hey Derek, I found this nearby pizza place on yelp. It got crazy good reviews. You up for it?" I asked as we were all cleaning up the files in the police conference room.

"Sorry kid. I promised Hotch I'd buy him Greek. maybe some other time."

"It's fine. Anyone want to come with me?" I ask, turning around and dropping the file I was holding into the correct container.

"Sorry. I have an E-date with Will."

"I have to clean up loose ends, and I still have to pack,"

"I have an old friend around here, I promised him we'd meet for lunch." I stood there, not wanting anyone to feel bad for me. I didn't want to seem like the kid I was in high school.

"It's fine. I actually have a friend in town, too. I bet I could meet up with them." I mean, it wasn't a lie. I got on my phone and pulled up Charlotte's number.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I got a call from Spencer as I was packing my things.

"Hello?" I asked, a small bit curious as to why he called, but not upset that he did.

"Hey, Charlotte. I was wondering if you had lunch plans. I found this pizza place that got great Yelp reviews and I was looking for someone to go with." I think about it for a second. I mean, I had eaten every other day of the week with Shonda, so I think she'll understand if I want to eat with Spencer.

"That sounds awesome! Where is it?"

"It's on the corner of Main and 15th. If you don't know where it is, I can probably pick you up."

"Nope. I know the place. See you at twelve?"

"Twelve is perfect. See you then." He says. I pack up my things as fast as I can and tell Shonda about my plans. She dismisses the apology I give her and tells me to get going. She smiled at me with something in her heart that I couldn't quite place until I was at the car. It was a mother's compassion.

As I stepped off the curb and in front of the pizzeria, I almost didn't recognize it. It was the same place Shonda and I had gone the night before, but I never said anything. I almost didn't recognize it because of the lack of vendors and music and excitement. I knew where it was once I was in the room. Spencer was already at a table waiting for me.

"Hey! How are you?" He asks, casual smile painted on his face.

"Good I actually had a good week now that Wiler is on vacation. Sadly, it's not a permanent thing."

"I know the feeling. What kind of pizza do you like? I'm pretty agreeable, so I can eat whatever." I don't really know what to order, because I'm scared what I'll want to order is the one thing he won't like.

"I like pepperoni."

"Anything else?"

"No. I'm good. How was your week, besides all of the criminal stuff?" He puts the small menu down and thinks for a second.

"It was really good, compared to some other weeks. It helped that none of the bodies we found were exactly new, and he wasn't exactly on a timed spree." I look at him, perplexed and intrigued.

"That's very different. You solve murders like this all the time? That's what your cases are?"

"Usually. If someone isn't dead, they're usually at the threat of dying."

"And you stop it?" He smiles and sips on the drink that was put in front of us. I take a sip of mine. Water."

"We normally do. I don't like to think about it if we don't"

"So you cause good change?" He stops for a second. Like the mellow conversational roller coaster he had been on had jerked for a moment.

"Yes, I mean. We cause good change for some people. I really do feel like we make a change for those people, by bringing people back or by giving them closure. Somehow, I feel like this is more about something else than my work. Why do you ask?"

"Well." I sigh. "Okay. So I used to be in the Air Force Academy. It was my dream to pilot Air Force One. I was really close to it, actually. I got discharged. Long story short, I wanted to fly because I wanted to know that there was good change happening in the world. It's why I never wanted to fly commercial. Just because I was in a glamorous place doesn't mean there's change going on there. That's a very beautiful way of looking at it. I've never thought of it that way." The way he said 'beautiful' made my heart flutter all weird. And before I told him about the Air Force, I could feel my heart getting warmer and beating faster and faster. It was weird, but I dismissed it. It was only after he went up to order our pizza that I kind of recognized it. He was the first guy who embraced my nerdiness and shared his own with me. He was the first guy who was ever my friend. Heck, he was my first friend. It was only after he finished ordering his pizza and came back to the table that I recognized the feeling.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

 **Hey, guys! Dontforgetmelondon here! Thank you so much for reading! If you like Birdsong, feel free to follow, favorite, and follow my author page. I also highly encourage leaving me a review if you read on the regular, because I would love to hear what you have to say, and I am always open to criticism!**

 **Have a great day, guys!**

 **-dontforgetmelondon**


	13. Here Come Those Eyes- Chris Rice

_And suddenly we're both in slow motion_

 _Like were alone in the deep blue ocean_

 _I know it's just a feeling_

 _But it might as well be real_

 _Because I think I might be fixin' to drown_

 _My knees go weak_

 _And my heart starts to pound_

You know, coping with this reminds me of getting the chickenpox and trying to hide it. You can put concealer on your face and you can resist the itching all you want, but it sure as hell is annoying. Like, I'll talk to Spencer and we can carry on this beautifully intricate and intelligent conversation, but there's always the itch. The little voice in the back of your head that peeks through your eyes and clouds your important thoughts with unnecessary ones.

 _He's cute_

 _Look at the way he flips his hair every so often_

 _I like the way he says 'serendipitous' or 'contravene' or 'mutatis mutandis' or literally any word in any language ever._

Seriously, I'm getting pretty annoyed. I have important things to say and with Spencer, you have to listen to every word he says or you're lost in the conversation. Every so often, if i'm not careful, I'll start focusing on one of my less intelligent thoughts instead of what he's saying and then I'll totally forget what we were talking about

"Don't you think so, Charlotte?" He'll ask me at the end of his sentence.

"Hmm? I'm sorry, I thought I just heard my phone go off." Or I make up some other excuse. It needs to stop. Not that liking a guy is a bad thing, but it is when he is the only friend you hang out with ever. And fortunately/unfortunately, it's only gotten better/worse from there. Spencer and I have started hanging out more outside of work. Nothing like the impromptu _Star Trek_ marathon, but smaller things. It's gotten into the tradition of takeout on Tuesdays, and actually going out on Thursdays, although sometimes we do takeout on Thursdays, too. Tonight is supposed to be takeout. We talked about what we wanted our last flight home. I talked about Italian, but he wanted Indian. We came to an eventual compromise.

"What do you mean you've never had Indian food?"

"I mean that I've never had Indian food. Is there a problem?"

"Now there is. You can order Italian for us, but I'm getting a platter of chicken tandoori for the both of us to share."

"That's actually not a bad idea. I'll get a small order of pasta from Bocelli's, and you can get an order of the tandoori and we can split it down the middle."

"What if you don't like the chicken tandoori?"

"I own a fridge, and it isn't empty, as a matter of fact."

"Okay. Bring over the pasta at, say six?"

"Perfect."

So tonight is going to be like any other night when we do stuff together. They say that liking someone makes you feel like there are birds in your chest, or magic, or butterflies but I've found that having a crush, is less like a bird and more like an alarm. If you ignore it, it doesn't go away. It gets louder and louder and louder until you feel like you have to do something about it. Have I done anything yet? No, and I don't plan to. I'm still hoping this can all go away sometime soon. I don't expect some tiny crush to last forever. Nonetheless, I still treat myself to small grade-school pleasures while it lasts. I'll put on perfume and some lipgloss, hoping maybe he'll notice a difference. Sometimes I imagine that we're together and that we do what we do on Tuesdays and Thursdays every single day. I'm more of an introvert, but if I spent every day with someone like him with me… I don't know. It sounds kind of pleasant.

Tonight, I don't try to look good for him or do my hair or wear anything pretty. The solitary luxury of the sort that I use is a small spritz of perfume. I put on an old sweater and some skinny jeans. It makes me look like a garbage bag stuffed with oranges, but it's the softest thing I own, that sweater. I think I can leave my hair hanging. A lot of times I leave it up, but I'm using this winter season and lack of humidity as a blessing for my hair, so when I do go out, I can actually wear it down without it frizzing. I order the Italian over the phone and play some music while I'm waiting. Another thing I've noticed that I've started doing since I've started liking Spencer is that I don't read anymore. I shouldn't say that. I do. All the time. However, instead of idly perusing some Poe or flipping through Fitzgerald, I'll sit at my reading nook and… do nothing. Sit. Sit and daydream about stupid stuff. Yes. _That_ stupid stuff. These idiotic thoughts, they're… persistent, if nothing else. And if I can assign any positive quality, they're the funnest things to think about. Ever. Like, It just makes me… light, and then not. Because I like him, but then I remember that I _can't_ like him.

I turn the music off one the delivery guy gets Italian guy gets there after two or three daydreams, the exact time of which I cannot say. All I know is that I have to be at Spencer's in about ten minutes, so I might want to start getting ready. As soon as I have everything ready, there's a persistent knock on my door.

"Charlotte! We're going to talk! Charlotte! Are you home?" I know I've used the word 'shit' to express frustration and anxiety too many times already, but I'll say it again: Shit. It's Sloan. He's at my door, knocking and yelling my name very loudly. Doesn't he know I have neighbors? I live in an apartment building. Every other apartment in here belongs to a neighbor of mine.

"Charlotte! I know you're home!" How does he _know_ I'm home? How does he know where I live? Why does he think it's okay to just show up. This is a very un-Sloan thing to do. He normally just starts feeling bad about himself and tries apologizing, and here, I'd even give it to him if he just hung up, but he's at my door, demanding I come outside. my phone gets a text.

 _What's happening on your floor? Are you okay?_

Spencer. He can hear. My chest tightens. I'm not dealing with this. Not now. I won't be subjected to it and he can't make me. I'll find a way out of it. I grab the Italian and head over to the door to peep out of the hole. Yep. At the door. No way to sneak past.

"You stood me up, Charlotte!" Nope. Nope. I hope Spencer didn't hear that. I need to get out. I pace to the door to take a moment to brainstorm. I trace the buildings until it's interrupted by the harsh black rail of the fire escape. I get an idea. I whip out my phone to text Spencer over Sloan's annoying yelps.

 _Yeah. I'll explain when I get there. Is there a fire escape out your window?_

It takes a moment for him to reply.

 _Yeah. I think everyone on the edge has one. Why?_

I wage it. To fall off of a fire escape, or to confront someone who thinks he's dating me while I try to make my way to the apartment of the guy I want to date?

 _Do you think it could hold me?_

This one takes a few more minutes for him to reply. I imagine he's weighing in his options.

 _Probably. Why? Please tell me you're not actually going to use it. I would advise against it, Charlotte. Think about it._

I've thought about it enough. It's either wait out Hurricane Jerry or go down a fire escape that was probably meant to hold more than myself, I might add. Hurricane Jerry is looking pretty steady. He hasn't lost an ounce of steam yet.

"I'll wait out here if I have to, Charlotte! You need to talk to me."

There are lots of needs in my life. Water, shelter, air, and italian food, but talking to him is not one of them. I crack open my window as quietly as possible and step out, take out container in hand. I shut it again, quietly and slowly make my way down the rickety stairs. Now that I'm up here, everything feels very real. No longer a skyline against my window, but a landscape that never ceases to roll along in front of me. I look back at the building and edge as close to it as I can, my caramel strands of hair forced to cling to it for dear life by the whipping wind. There's a landing between my window and Spencer's I take a seat, setting the takeout on my lap. I quickly whip out my phone, careful to keep a tight grip in the blowing waves of wind.

 _Open your window._

My steps are slow and deliberate. I take the fire escape stair by rickety stair. Luckily, my timing is perfect, and the instant I'm at the last step, the window in front of me opens to reveal a smiling face looking at me. He sticks his head out and looks up at where I've been, and then returns to me, offering me a hand to help me get inside. I hike over the windowsill and into the living room, making sure to take off my shoes the instant I'm inside. He takes his hand off of my upper arm, which he was using to guide me through the hole and again sticks his head out the window

"I can't believe you actually used the fire escape. Is it that bad?"

I hear Sloan yelling something from upstairs. It's muffled, but I can tell it's getting angrier by the second.

"Yes. I can say that with wholehearted confidence. Yes." Spencer looks concerned. He takes the Italian food to the kitchen so he can put it on actual plates.

"Is he an ex-boyfriend or something? And is this alfredo?" I raise my eyebrow and follow him.

"No and Yes? Is that a problem?" Spencer looks at me, unclear as to what I was conveying.

"That he isn't an ex? Well, no. He shouldn't be harassing you anyways. If not, then why-"

"No, the alfredo. Is that a problem?" I ask. I didn't ask him what he wanted from Bocelli's. I probably should have.

"It's fine. Do you think you could head to the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet? Look at the bottom shelf on the far right and grab my antacids." It hits me as to why I shouldn't have ordered what I ordered.

"Alfredo is heavy in cream and you are lactose intolerant." I say to myself more than him, covering my mouth. "I am so sorry. I should have remembered that you can't eat things like that."

"I can eat them," He replies. "I love alfredo. I do this all the time. I wouldn't keep antacids in my house if I had no intention of using them." I'm not sure if I feel better about it or not, but I feel like I shouldn't make a big deal out of it. I retrieved the bottle from the cabinet without trying to look at anything else inside. I feel like if I did, I'd end up feeling like 'that stalker girl who memorized the contents of your medicine cabinet' and in all honesty, I don't think I'm ready for that amount of crazy.

"So that guy," Spencer starts, taking our plates to the living room and setting them down on the coffee table. "Who is he, exactly?"

"That, Spencer, is Jerry Sloan. I used to work alongside him in the academy. He liked me for a really long time, but I never liked him at all. I've always kind of avoided him, really. Well, after I left, he really became determined to get with me, I guess. He called me and texted me, and at one point, he called and told me to 'be somewhere at eight. dress nice." It was disgusting. So I didn't show up because he didn't let me say yes. I figured he would learn his lesson, but now he's at my door, the address of which I have no idea how he got, yelling about how I stood him up."

"Wow. Sounds like a bit much. Why don't you just talk to him and tell him no?" I can hear my conscience agreeing with him, because that's how you would handle conflict with any other human being, but I know that Sloan is not just any other human being.

"He doesn't work like that. He'll talk and talk and entrap me in his apologies and reasonings until the conversation is at an end that which he wants, which I'm _not_ going to give him. He needs to learn to just leave me alone. To not treat people like they were made specifically for him to be happy and nothing else."

"Sounds like narcissism to me. I mean, what would I know? I'm _just_ a profiler. But still." He says with a mouth full of pasta I laugh at him and roll my eyes.

"Doesn't sound wrong to me." I say.

"How long do you think he'll stay up there?" He asks, looking at his ceiling like he can see Sloan right through them.

"Well, the yells are getting more muffled, so I'd say he's moved on to my neighbors, asking them where I am or where I've been. So, I think he'll be there for a while."

"Hopefully he's not smart enough to move floors."

"He's not." I say, desperately hoping that I'm right. As we sit in silence, eat eagerly eating the best pasta in the neighborhood, I can still hear his yelling moving on the floor above us. He's getting angrier. With every single person who slams their door shut in his face, his determination seemed to grow, but I don't want to think about that right now.

"Do you want me to call the landlord and have him escorted out?" He asks, his eyes filled with empathy. I really like his eyes. Looking in his eyes was like looking in space. It was vast and filled with endless emotion. They were such pretty eyes

"Charlotte?" He asks.

"Huh? Sorry, I was thinking about something."

"Do you want me to call the landlord? I can report him and have him escorted out."

"Oh! Well, not now. In all honesty, I'd be surprised if someone hasn't already." He nods, looking at his food like he was deciding something, and then looking back up at me.

"So what was it like?"

"What?"

"I mean, almost flying Air Force One, what was it like?" He asks, putting his fork back down on his plate, like I was the most important thing to talk about. I know that's not what he intended. I was just letting my stupid thoughts get ahead of the important ones.

"Well, I was with all boys. Not a single girl made it to the program with me. There were only a few boys, and most of them were Sloan's friends. They practically worshipped the ground he walked on because he was some type of pretentious god who could pick errors out of anything a mile away, and if you made any sort of error, trust me, he knew." He nods, picking his fork back up and stabbing at the pasta on the plate.

"Did you make many?" He asks.

"I made enough. Enough for him to point it out time after time and, if we're being honest, I think he had something to do with my discharge. Though, that's a little far fetched. I wouldn't be surprised if he did."

"Why would he do that if he liked you?" Spencer asks, again with a mouth full of food. It sends me into a small burst of laughter before handing him a napkin to wipe the sauce off his face.

"Because. I never looked up to him. I felt like I knew what was right for myself and I didn't need anyone to tell me what they thought besides my commanding officer, that which he was not. He always liked me, but I never really worshipped him like everyone else." Spencer nods his head, slowly, as if it was all clear now.

"So he could have left a tip to a C.O. saying that you weren't good enough so you would be discharged and, by his logic, finally realize that his words were right all along. Plus, now he had the job you wanted, so he thinks he worked harder for it than you did." I stop eating. The words themselves weren't shocking or alarming, but I read into them a little bit.

"Do you think he didn't?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," he starts, seemingly unprepared for this question. "He doesn't seem to work as hard for things. He's 'entitled' to them. With what I've seen from you, you don't really feel that way. You work hard and make up where others may slack, and you never say a word about it. You just pull your weight and whatever else you need to to get the job done. This guy, it sounds like he deceives- he cheats for progress. He makes himself seem better than others be putting himself above them when he's not, and everyone just _falls_ for it. It's lazy and self righteous." He notes. I just… stare at him. I genuinely don't know what to say in response.

"Are you a wizard? Or a mind reader?" I sincerely hope he isn't a mind reader. He thought it was funny. he smiles and begins to shake his head

"Nope. I'm just an FBI agent who knows a little bit about human behavior-" He's interrupted by the door ringing.

"That must be the Indian food. Wait here for a moment."

"Ready for round two." I say, not even half kidding. Before he can pay, I run up to him and shove a twenty in the hands of the delivery guy.

"Keep the change." I tell him quickly, as if I can get by Spencer without him knowing what I'm saying

"What? No. Charlotte, you paid for the Italian."

"And you let me use your fire escape."

"Charlotte, let me pay."

"No, wait, no you can't. Oh no, he's leaving." I giggled with a comedic grin, nodding and winking to the delivery guy and shutting the door.

"Fine. I'll just pay you back." He says as the door shuts in front of him.

"Eh. You pay me in friendship and bizarre facts about things nobody knows about."

"Considering the fact that at least _I_ know them, it defeats the statement that _nobody_ knows these things. It's a fallacy."

"Shut up and open the tandoori." I say sarcastically. As soon as It's open, my nose is assaulted with a plethora of smells and I can't decide if I like it or not. I have my fork out, just ready to dig in, when Spencer chimes in.

"Don't you need your insulin, Charlotte?" God, my insulin. I spent so much time getting ready that I forgot the one this that could kill me if I forget it. I shoot up from my seat on the floor and head to the door. As soon as I'm there, I stop. I can't go through the door. Sloan is going door to door on my floor looking for me.

"I'm going to have to use the window again." I can see him hesitate in agreeing with me.

"Charlotte, are you sure it's the wisest idea to go back up the fire escape? Are you sure you'll be able to open your window from the outside?"

"Well, I have to try. It's not like I forgot to lock my door. It's my _insulin._ If I don't try, then I'll have to leave and go buy more. I need it before the pasta metabolizes too much." He begins to look nervous.

"Okay, fine. I'll wait here. Yell if you need something."

"Absolutely."

"And Charlotte?"

"Yes?"

"Please be careful."

Spencer's P.O.V.

As soon as I helped Charlotte through the window, I turn around to portion the Tandoori. Too bad I didn't even make it to the coffee table before I had begun hearing a knock on my door.

"Mr. Reid? Mister Reid! I would like to speak to you. Mister Reid!" It sounds like the guy from the other floors. I run to the hole in my door and peek through. I don't know what I expected him to look like, but he is far less intimidating than Charlotte made him sound. Height wise, he might come up to my chest or possibly my shoulder. Maybe if he stood on his tiptoes, he could come to my neck. I don't know what to do, so I don't do anything at all. I try waiting him out until Charlotte can come back. I hope that she knows where her insulin is. Having him at the door shouting like this is rather annoying, and I bet my neighbors will think the same.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I climb into my apartment window and trip on the sill as I'm stepping over it. I rub my chin once I get up, just to make sure it was okay. I'm fine. I run to my kitchen and retrieve my insulin and glucose tablets off of the counter. However, because I didn't take insulin at the beginning and I don't want anything getting out of whack, I grab a glucose meter just so I know what exactly is being processed. As I head back to my window, I can hear Sloan again. He's near me, but he's quiet. It's almost like he's.

Wait.

No.

When I scale the stars again, it's more harrowing this time. I don't know what's waiting for me on the bottom and I know this time I _can't_ drop anything. I keep steady and hold the railing tightly, the bag containing my items clutched in the other. When I get to the bottom, the window is closed. I check to make sure I still have everything, and I hear the window open while I'm doing that. He grabs me and yanks my arm. I'm flying inside when I see Spencer at the other end of my arm.

"Sloan is here. Quick, hide in here. Don't come out until I come in and get you." He says faster than I can process it, escorting me into the nearby hallway and into what I can only assume is his bedroom. It was actually really cute. The bedroom, I mean. Not the 'ushering me into a room to hide me from an obsessive ex-colleague.' That was nice, but I was too scared to notice if it was cute. What if Sloan knew I was there? Why did he come here? Who tipped him off to come here? I lower myself onto the carpet and put my ear to the door.

Spencer's P.O.V.

After Charlotte is safely put into my room, I give my apartment a quick inspection to make sure there are no signs of her being there. I finally answer the door.

"Hello?" I slur, wiping my face with my hand to indicate that I had just woken up, even though I hadn't.

"Mister Reid. My name is Jerry Sloan and I am with the Air Force. What do you know about a woman named Charlotte Nicole Wills? Do you know where she is?" Nicole. I never thought of her middle name as a 'Nicole.' I always thought it would be something more girly and flowery like 'Marie' or 'Catherine.'

"Charlotte Wills? I think she works at the Aviation Unit down at Quantico."

"And how would you know?"

"I work in the Behavioral analysis unit. Why are you looking for her?" I say, squinting my eyes in the bright hall lights as if they hurt to look at.

"I see. So you're a colleague. Well, I am a close friend of Charlotte's, and I was looking for her because we need to talk. Do you know where she is?"

"I'm sorry. I don't. I don't really know her that well. If I were to guess, I would guess that she's in her apartment." He scoffs at me, rolling his eyes.

"I've already _checked_ there, genius. She's not there. Would you have any other genius ideas, Mister Reid?"

"Actually, it's Doctor-I don't know where she is. I've been sleeping for the past two hours. Why did you come to my house? Who gave you this apartment number? Or, are you just going door to door?" He scoffed, utterly repulsed that I would criticise something he did. I can only assume that's why.

"I came here because someone on the top floor said you two knew each other." I furrow my eyebrows, confused now.

"Then why did you ask me if I knew her?"

"I wanted to see if you two were close?"

"Why would you need to know that?" He's getting more and more agitated by the second, and I'm beginning to doubt if I should have opened my door at all.

"You call yourself a doctor. Doctor of never-ending questions, maybe. Listen, I have very important work to do, so if you don't mind, could you stick to what I'm asking y-"

"Those doctorates, Yes, with an 's,' as in, more than one, are in Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics that I got at Caltech. Now, if Charlotte _is_ home, I now understand why she kept her door shut, something I should have done from the beginning. Goodnight, Mister Sloan." He tries to interrupt, and he actually tries to open the door while I'm shutting it, but someone threw their hand on the doorknob and it slams shut with one mere tug of our combined power against his. I look up at Charlotte, who had ventured out of the room once she heard voices being raised, and smile. I thank her for the help with the door,but I ask why she risked being seen, had we not been able to close the door.

"I figured I wouldn't be. He's not as strong as he says he is." I nod in agreement. However, if I was struggling against him, that doesn't make me very strong, either. "And," she adds. "I wasn't going to let you face him alone if he was messing with you like that. I almost revealed myself when he asked you how close we were. Wait," She says suddenly. She creeps to the door and peeks through the hole.

"Okay, he's gone. I was just making sure. Now, how about some tandoori?" I laugh and look at the no longer steaming tandoori on the platter.

"I think it's cold now. We'll have to warm it up." Charlotte shrugs.

"I can wait."

Charlotte's P.O.V.

That was one of the weirdest incidents I've ever been in, and I half expected him to ask me to leave once Sloan was out of the way, but he didn't. He smiled and heated the food up and we sat on his carpet and ate weird tasting chicken. It was actually pretty good. Not too spicy and not too foreign for my palate to enjoy.

I was actually a bit apprehensive to touch the doorknob when Sloan was trying to open it. Not because I thought he'd see me and not because I thought he was going to get physical with Spencer, but I was afraid to touch his hand. I've only done it a few times before, and it was something he didn't do often. I don't think that he thinks I'm revolting. He just gets touchy about germs. It's probably why he always has hand sanitizer with him and washes his hands all the time. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable. After Sloan was sent packing, I kept a close eye on his hands to see if he was wiping them off or anything. Nothing. Out of all the things he's said and done tonight, that's one of my favorites.

We sat and talked for a long time, long after the tandoori was gone.

"Nope. I don't believe it." I said, shaking my head and biting my lip. "Nobody, not even a genius, could do that." By this time, he had gotten a deck of cards out, and we were taking turns making a card tower, not ever getting any farther than four cards because I'm terrible at it.

"When you grow up in Las Vegas, you begin to learn different things. For someone like me that meant counting cards. I'm banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Pahrump because of it." I turned my head, taking my concentration away from the tower for a single second. It falls over. Again.

"Well then, we're just going to have to find another casino because I don't have to see it to believe it but I really want to see it anyways."

"If we ever go to Vegas, I'm sure we can find some place." He says, fixing the cards up so that we can try again.

"Are you sure you can't read minds?"

"Pretty certain, though, I've convinced people that I can. It's all just a bunch of Sherlocking, really." He can tell that whatever he said struck something in me, because he saw my face light up the instant he said 'Sherlocking.'

"Have you read the Sherlock Holmes novels?" He asked, amused by my excitement.

"Every single one, and tons of other short stories." I say "Which one's your favorite?" He thinks for a second mentally going through each one, and then deciding.

"I like the Hound of the Baskervilles. Not only was it riveting and clever, but the slight horror aspect made it the best for me. What about you?"

"I liked 'A Study in Scarlet' because, I don't know. You never forget your first, and I just thought it was so great. I finished the whole thing in a single sitting when I was twelve."

"You're kidding. I mean, I did, too, but I read pretty fast."

"You just can't put them down."

"Right?-" He's interrupted by the phone. My phone, to be exact. I guess I've been here for so long and I've been so engrossed in conversation, that I somewhat forgot it was there. I stood in shock for a small period of time, listening to it beep, until it hit me that I needed to go answer it. Though it might have been a good idea to look at the caller ID before picking up, I don't.

"Hello?"

"Get ready, Songbird. You have a flight tomorrow from here all the way to Sunny Palm Springs! I'll have the coordinates and all the information you'll need on my desk tomorrow, but you're going to need to be in early. _Early_ early.

"Will do. I'll be there bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to work." I say, though I might have sounded more convincing if I hadn't yawned halfway through the sentence.

"I have no doubts. See? You're even working on your sleep now so you'll be ready tomorrow. I mean, I can only assume you took so long to answer because you were asleep, right?" I press my lips together and utter a "Yes, mom."

" _Riiiiiiight."_ She croons. I can hear her smirk over the phone. "Get some sleep. See you tomorrow, Songbird."

"Night, Cap." I say, setting the phone back on the counter.

"Your boss?"

"Yep. I have a flight scheduled for tomorrow. Shonda wants me to get there early so I can look at the coordinates."

"Oh," He says. His face had suddenly twisted to somber, like his kite had just gotten stuck in a tree. "I guess we should get you back to your apartment. You need rest." _We._ I liked the sound of that. Not _you. We._ I nodded and eyed the window once more.

"Want to take the scenic route?"

"Charlotte, are you sure that can even hold us? What if it breaks and we fall?"

"It's a terrifying thought, but think about it: I've seen eight or nine firefighters all with tenants on a fire escape at one during a fire. Our apartment building had the fire escape inspected every two years or so."

"The last inspection was six months ago, approximately."

"See? They were made to stand on. C'mon." It takes some coaxing, and I feel bad about pushing him at first, but once we get out onto the fire escape and I see him look at the city… Well, I guess you could say we each have a very different, yet equally breathtaking view at this very same moment. And one of the best things? I lead him up the fire escape, at first only using my hand on his shoulder, but after getting ahead of him enough, it slips down and he catches it with his own hand. He doesn't let go. The entire time I lead him up the stairs, all I can think is:

 _Oh._

 _His hand is kind of dry._

 _but it's cute._

 _Why is it cute?_

 _Why is everything he does just…_

 _cute._

And one of the best/worst things is? I let myself think these stupid thoughts. I even kind of encourage them. I'm going home, and I feel like I can't mess anything up from here out. We get to the top, or at least, to my floor, and just watch the city for a moment. I forget that I probably shouldn't still be holding his hand. I take it away, but very naturally, using the same hand to brush my hair behind my ear on one side. Do I want to keep holding his hand? Yes. Absolutely, yes. Worlds of yes, here. But do I also want to be the weird person who keeps holding his hand after I'm done leading him up here? Eh? No. I don't. Instead, I stand by him, taking in the night air and him, because I'm close enough to smell him. Oh God, I'm becoming that creepy girl, aren't I? For what it's worth, he smells like laundry detergent and soap, with just a hint of spices that I can only assume are from tea. After a good five minutes of silently looking at the skyline together, he looks at me.

"Thank you for the great night, Charlotte. I had fun." He says, with a little smile crawling across his face.

"Thanks. I had fun, too. But I'm sorry you had to deal with Sloan. He is my problem and I should have handled it." He chuckles and glances back out at the city, and then back to me.

"Last time I checked, he showed up at my apartment. So tonight, he was my problem, too. Plus, why should I let you deal with this alone? It's what I'm here for. It's what _friends_ are here for." The way he says 'friends' sends chills down my spine,but I pass it off as the wind. He takes notice.

"You're cold? We should get you inside." _We._ I smile and nod, pretending it wasn't at all because of him.

"Goodnight, Spencer, I say, putting some elbow grease into my arm and opening my window."

"Goodnight, Charlotte." He says. I don't know who initiated it, whether it was myself getting too lost in my thoughts to control my actions or, maybe he's finally comfortable enough with me to touch my skin. Whichever it is, neither of us seem to mind. We just stood there for a moment, my open window waiting expectantly. I dig my face into his shoulder, taking in the smell and the warmth of his cardigan. His hair hanging behind his ear tickled my nose. I let out a small giggle and he pulls his head back, looking at me with amused suspicion.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're hair was tickling my nose." He laughs and brushes it all back behind his ear again. The hug breaks apart.

"Yeah. I've been thinking about getting it cut."

"I don't know. I like the long hair. But I mean, if you wanted to, you'd look just as nice with shorter hair, probably."

"I guess we'll see." He says.

"So are you working tomorrow?

"Probably. I assume you mean 'am I flying?" I sit on my window sill and nod

"Probably, and if we don't see each other tomorrow, we can make plans after that." I nod again.

"Sure!" I turn around and plop myself down in my window seat.

"Actually, I'll do you once better. There's a show in North Park that'll be playing on the sixth, I believe. It's for Mardi Gras. It'll have lots of dancing and costumes and it talks a lot about the background of the holiday and tons of traditions. Do you want to come? I think you'd like it." My heart slams its two hands against its cage in a resounding 'YES. YES. YES,' but my actual answer is much more nonchalant.

"If I'm not working, I'd love to go!" His smile widens and he straightens up.

"That's great!" He clears his throat. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then. I mean, probably." I giggle and let my head down, almost in defeat.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Spencer." He smiles and starts heading down the stairs. I stood in my window and watched him until he was out of my eyesight. After that, I went back into my living room. I walked to my bed, set my alarm, and fell asleep without even changing into my pajamas.

And, to tell the truth, I wouldn't have done it any other way

 **Hey Guys! It's dontforgetmelondon! Please favorite and comment! I am so incredibly interested in what you have to say about the story. It means so much that you guys read it.  
Have a great day!  
-Sarah (dontforgetmelondon)**


	14. Collide-Howie Day

_Even the best fall down sometimes_

 _Even the wrong words seem to rhyme_

 _Out of the doubt that fills my mind_

 _I somehow find_

 _You and I collide_

What does one wear during a Mardi Gras celebration show? Obviously, I can't wear something with short sleeves or something flirty at all- not that I would want to. Spencer isn't the type of person who would really fall for something like that. Is he? I mean, he seems like he wouldn't, since he is an intellectual. But, do I know? What can you wear when it's negative seven degrees outside and you want to impress a boy? Luckily for me, I decide the answer is something functional. If you don't wear enough layers to an outdoor concert in front of an intellectual, he will assume you aren't one and I don't need that kind of disadvantage with the ones I already have. I end up deciding on jeans and a top of it, I layer a light jacket and a winter coat. Some boots, I decide, fit the bill quite nicely. The show is at seven, so I'm unsure if we'll be eating before or not. Should I text him? I figure it's better to have a plan, so I do.

 _Hey, are you eating beforehand or were we planning on getting something after the show?_

He takes a few minutes to answer. I don't mind, since I don't really think he uses his phone too often.

 _I wasn't sure. Do you wanna grab a bite to eat after?_

Do I tempt fate? Do I dare? I've been concerned lately because I've realized a few things. A list, really.

What if he doesn't like me, and he realizes that I like him, and doesn't want to be friends anymore?

What if he does like me, and we date, and then he realizes that he indeed does _not_ like me and then we're not friends?

Okay, okay, okay. What if he _does_ like me, and we date and he still likes me for a while and then eventually we fight and then we break up?

Do you notice a pattern? I have a crush on Spencer, but I also, I don't know, _need_ him? I know that isn't the right word being used, because without him, I could function. He is not any of the biological needs, really. But I just… I don't know. I've grown used to him. If we don't talk on the plane, which we don't do as much, we get together and we do something after. But it's never been a _date_. It's just two people being together. Oh, yes. It's _hanging out_. Siblings can hang out. Friends can hang out. We've hung out, and as people of different genders in this situation, that would be a good sign, however, there really hasn't been any heavy romantic context. We don't flirt or make jokes. When he was talking to Sloan, he did not speak of me as anything more than a friend. Even the _subtext_ seemed comradic. At the end of the day, I'm here, arguing with myself on whether I should be going for it or not. I decide that whatever happens is bound to happen anyways, and I should let fate run its course. If I do know one thing, though, it is that I am not going to let my fear of getting _too_ close with someone stop me from being happy. If being his friend makes me happy, It is nothing but a blessing

 _Where do you want to go?_

As I wait for his reply, I ready myself to speak to someone a little _less_ desirable.

Spencer's P.O.V.

I hear music outside, people celebrating, and I can smell the food from here. As for what I'm doing, I'm tearing my bedroom apart, looking for my second shoe. Call me childish, but it wasn't exactly something that concerned me until now. Charlotte and I had batted ideas back and forth until we finally decided on Chinese food. I had spent the time pacing around my room, bouncing a ball, and not worrying at all about where my shoes were until two minutes before I had to go. I didn't know if she wanted to meet up there or walk there together, so I texted and asked her. I swear, this is the most I've ever used my phone in my life. I hope I can buy myself some time with her answer.

 _Well, I *am* just upstairs. It makes more sense just to walk there together._

This is good and bad. Good because I really do enjoy every second of her company, and bad because, well, I assume this gives me less wiggle room to find my shoe. It is only when I am practically standing on my head that I spot it under my bed. I scurry over all the items I had displaced in the search for the shoe and eagerly slide it onto my foot. As I look for my coat, my phone rings with a call, but it isn't Charlotte.

"Derek? What's up?" I ask as if I hadn't just been running around my apartment like a hamster in its cage.

"Hey, pretty boy! I was looking at some of the local restaurants, and one of the local pubs is having a trivia night. Can you be at Flannigan's in an hour?" I kind of feel bad, but there is no hesitation in my answer.

"Can I have a raincheck? I've made plans already." I can hear his confusion process over the phone.

"With friends? I'm sorry, do I have the wrong number?" I roll my eyes.

"Yes and Nope. This is the not-so-friendless genius who you actually wanted to spend time with tonight."

"Don't get cocky, Einstein. The pub is offering a grand to the winning trivia team."

"And you just wanted a cut?"

"Well, yeah. Let's say you and me, we split it thirty-seventy?"

"Compelling offer, but the answer still stands."

"C'mon. you know I wasn't being serious. Are you actually doing something tonight? What is it?"

"I'm going to a show with a friend of mine."

"Oh. Which one?" I tense up a little bit. I know he didn't ask me to make me feel uncomfortable, but I'm uncomfortable.

"Charles. We went to MIT together. We met in a coding class. We're getting together to catch up." After I finish, I realize that what I said may have been _too_ believable, and that I offered too much detail. I wait for his reply for few moments.

"Uh… Sure. Have fun, pretty boy. But the next time Flannigan's is offering money for a trivia contest, you're not allowed to get out of it."

"Of course not, but that doesn't mean I'm letting you have any" I can hear him laugh over the phone. That's a good sign.

"Touche, pretty boy. You have fun. I'll see you on Monday."

"Bye, Derek." That was close. Not that I want to be secretive about my friendship with Charlotte. There's nothing to be secretive about. She's great. I just didn't want him hinting at anything. Granted, no matter when I tell him that I've made friends with a girl, he'll tease me, but it wasn't something I was up for today, timewise nor emotion wise.

I don't have any issues with Charlotte as a person. That's actually kind of the problem. We have this bizarre form of symbiosis and I haven't been able to come up with a word for it. I mean, there's friendship and camaraderie and appreciation, but this is something else. It's like we're two puzzle pieces that fit really well. I've been purposefully avoiding romantic thoughts because I don't think she thinks them, either. For now, with the way we are, we fit really, really well. I don't even know if she's noticed, but I actually have grown more comfortable with touching her. I actually hugged her last week on a fire escape. But it's those little moments that make me wonder if she is interested in something more.

Anyways, I'm just not in the mood for Derek to talk about it.

I realize I haven't messaged Charlotte yet, so I spout off a quick question-

 _Great! Do you want to meet at your apartment or mine or in the lobby?_ I say, still roaming my apartment to find my coat this time. I get a text just as I find it hanging on my bedroom door.

 _I'll be down._

Even though I should prepare for her to come through the front door, I wait by the window just in case. Sure enough, I hear the careful clamor of her shoes against the metal as she makes her way down. I quickly grab my scarf and open the window for her.

"Thanks! Sorry if you weren't expecting it or something. It's just easier, and I can just never get enough of that view."

"No, It's fine. The view is really nice. I don't mind at all. Do you want to get going?" Her eyes follow my scarf for a moment, trailing their way up to me.

"Sure!" She says. She seems a little dazed, like she's thinking about something. I wait until we're both on the elevator to ask.

"Are you okay, Charlotte? You seem a little disoriented." Her eyes snap to me like she was shocked.

"Oh, yeah. It's just… um… When I was up at my apartment, before I left, I called Sloan."

"What? Why?" I can tell she was expecting me to react like this. She holds her hand up and gives me a slow nod.

"Because I have had enough of him. I told him that the way he asked me out was disgusting and that it was too far to come to my house, and harass my coworkers. He tried brushing it off. He told me that I was the only girl he ever thought he had a chance with. I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult." I laugh. I'm glad that she can take humor out of the situation.

"That was very brave of you, Charlotte. However, what I'm wondering is why he thought he had a chance with you." It's quiet for a second, and for that second, I think I've said something inappropriate."

"He said that I never told him to go away."

"Did you?"

"No, I don't think I ever told him explicitly to go away, I just never talked to him much at all. I thought he'd take the hint. Obviously, he didn't." She says, wiping her hands over her forehead.

"What happened then?" She takes a breath and recollects.

"Well, after explicitly stating that no, I didn't like him, and never would, he tried apologizing and told me that if I gave him another chance, he wouldn't screw it up. Needless to say, I told him that he wouldn't be receiving another chance, and that he really didn't have one in the first place. He kept apologizing and trying to get my forgiveness. I was running out of time by then, so I just told him that I wasn't even interested in a boyfriend. He seemed at least half-sated. I told him I had to go, and he only left after apologizing again, like fifty times. I mean, I'm all for saying you're sorry, but there comes a point where it gets just ridiculous."

"Especially when you consider the circumstances," I say to my shoes. The elevator stops and we get off.

"Wait a second. Spencer Reid, did you cut your hair?" I chuckle, surprised that she hasn't mentioned anything until now.

"Yeah, I stopped somewhere and just got it cut a bit shorter. Do you like it?" I say nonchalantly.

"It looks great on you! You must feel so weird." She smiles.

"Well, I didn't realize how cold my apartment really was until I came home." She laughs and smiles at my scarf, her eyes tracing it again.

"I love it," She says, her eyes returning to me.

"Thanks!" I say, absentmindedly putting my hands in my pockets. "I mean, I've had this hair for so long that it kind of feels good to not have it so long anymore."

"I bet," She says, then adds "Have you ever seen this show before? What exactly am I in for?"

"I went about two years ago and it was fantastic. I mean, I'm all one for the factual part of it all, and I was really interested to hear about all of the traditions. Have you ever gone to anything like this?" She waits a few seconds before answering.

"Well, I've been to shows. Actually, I haven't been to many of those, either. Can I say no?"

"Sure! It'll be a new experience for you. You'll love it."

Charlotte's P.O.V.

And a new experience it was. After the long and tedious phone call with private enemy number one, I find the show to be fantastic. North Park has chairs set up all around. I hunch over my warm Chinese food in the cool February air as we conspire where to sit.

"Most of the chair seats are full," I say, almost regretting the Chinese food.

"That's fine. We can just sit on the lawn." He says, paying less attention to me and more to the twirling chopsticks in his takeout container.

"Are you trying to eat your chopsticks like spaghetti?" I say as I take a seat under a nearby tree. I decide on that specific area because it seems like all the snow has evaded the space underneath the tree.

"I've never really known how to eat with these things and they didn't include a fork in the bag. Do you have a rubber band I could use with these?" I shake my head and keep eating my food. Watching him trying to eat his is almost a show in itself. Eventually, he finds a method, the method being to pinch as much food in his chopsticks as possible and shoving it in his mouth before it falls off. It's childish, but it's also very charming. Everything he does is charming. Wait. Stop. Think. Think intelligent things, Wills. Don't be dumb. I focus on the dimming lights on the stage set up outside and set my takeout box on the ground. I think the show is about to begin.

The show was everything he described it as and even more. There was dancing and music from a great big jazz band and a woman who was the narrator throughout the whole thing. There was even an entire chorus of dancers who would change their outfits at the end of every dance and get into new ones for the next. I've never seen anything like it. And, unbeknownst to me, they even sold merchandise.

"In the beginning, masks worn during Mardi Gras allowed wearers to rid themselves of barriers from others such as society and class. When wearing a mask, people were free to be whomever they wanted to be, and associate with whatever class they desired." Spencer looks around for a moment with mild eyes until he sees something that makes him jump up.

"Wait here," He says. I do, a little suspicious as to what he's doing, but I wait to see for myself. He comes back with a plastic bag that has something in it. He starts unpacking and I realize that it's two somethings. Masks. One for myself and one for him. My mask is black with elegant, yet simple feather accents.

"For the resident Songbird," He says as he gives it to me.

"Oh, Spencer. It's so pretty. Thank you!"

"It was nothing," He replies, putting on a plain black one for himself. "They were selling tons of them. I thought it'd get you into the spirit." We sat like that through the rest of the show. Both wearing our masks like it was a totally normal thing to do. When it finished, the woman gave a grand gesture with both hands and the dancers came out in their most elaborate costumes yet, complete with feathers and sequins and even some pyrotechnics. As I watch the glimmering lights above me, Spencer leans over and tells me something.

"Pyrotechnics were actually believed to be invented over two thousand years ago when the Chinese found that mixing three popular cooking ingredients and lighting them made a loud bang and bright flash." I turned my head amidst all the celebration.

"That's so cool! I never knew that."

"Most people don't, I've found." He says. We wait around under the tree for a while, discussing fireworks and the celebration and how interesting we found the origins of the traditions. We tapped our feet to the jazz band, which continued to play after the show itself was over. When most of the people were gone, but the band is still playing, I throw away my trash and walk back over to him. As I go to leave, he grabs my hand, sticking his head in the hair like he's listening for something.

"Do you dance?"

"I can follow." He pulls me into a waltzer's stance, with one hand in mine and one hand pressing lightly on my hip. He leads me in small circles, our heads occupying the spaces between each other's neck and shoulder. I can feel his warmth radiating onto my face, even if I'm not touching him. We take a step back and dance at a farther distance as he goes to speak.

"Look. There's a plane." He says. I look up and sure enough, there's a plane flying straight above us. I can tell that it's a commercial flight, so it's bigger than anything I'm currently flying.

"How long have you known you wanted to fly?" He asked me, still dancing to the orchestra's fluid tune.

"I flew for the first time when I was really young. I was seven, maybe?"

"And that's when you knew?" I take a deep breath.

"Yes. Yes and no. I didn't say to myself 'that's what I'm going to do for a career when I grow up.' but at the same time, I never pictured myself doing anything else."

"It was a calling," He says, a twinkle in his eye.

"Yeah, I guess you could call it a calling." He looks at our feet moving together and opens his mouth to speak, but closes it.

"What?" He looks back up in my eyes.

"Oh, Nothing. I just was thinking about how good a time I had. I've gotten to do a lot of things with you that I can't really do with anyone else. I just really appreciate you because you can appreciate things like this. Well, I mean, not just that. I'm just glad you can." Hearing all of this gives me more feelings than I know what to do with. I want to laugh, I want to cry. I want to scream off the fire escape back home. He appreciates me. He values me. It all just makes me feel… happy. I started this year with a terrible taste in my mouth and a pink slip. Nothing else mattered but my job. Nothing else has ever mattered other than my job. Even if that meant picking up the pieces and acquiring a new one. Without myself noticing, I guess something else began mattering just as much. Me. Not my job or seeing good change or proving to my parents that I'm fine on my own. Me. I started doing fun things with other people and joking and for the first time in a really long time, I can say I'm happy because of something non-work related.

In the midst of all my thinking, I bury my head in his shoulder. The only difference between this and last week was his hair not being there to tickle my nose. I can still smell the leather, the soap, and the spices. This time it's all awash with the unmistakeable scent of Chinese food. I blame it on the cold and my bad eyes and the fact that it's late, but I can feel the stray tear or two fall from my face and onto his coat.

"Charlotte? Are you okay?" He asks me, making sure to look me in the eye.

"Yeah, I just… Thank you, Spencer. Thank you so much."

"What? For the mask. I mean, it's nice, Charlotte, but I don't think it's worth crying over." I bury my face in his shoulder again as I laugh amidst the other emotions.

"No, I mean to say… Okay, for a long time, I didn't have any friends. Not one. Shocking, I know."

"No, I know the feeling. Go on."

"Well, for a long time, everything was just 'Me, Myself, and Work.' But, now that I know you and I have someone to talk to, nothing is about work anymore. You make me feel like there's more to life than work. In high school, I worked to get into a good college, and in college, I worked hard to get where I got. But now I have a friend and we hang out all the time and when you say that you appreciate me like that. I'm sorry. It just has a big impact on me. It's a good thing." He stares at me for a long time, searching my eyes for nothing in particular.

"That's good," He says, his voice having no trouble being taken over by the trumpets of the orchestra, who were wrapping up what I was guessing was their last number.

"Do you want to get out of here? I'm a bit cold and it's getting late."

"Sure," I say, now filled with overwhelming anxiety at the impact of my words. He hadn't said much. He said 'that's good.' That could mean anything. That sounds like a reply when you're too creeped out to come up with a real one. I keep on internally panicking, my heart gnawing at its cage with its teeth like knives and its claws like sharp sticks. As we hop on the metro to take a quick way home, he looks at me and asks me a question.

"What I was going to say earlier. I've been invited to a gala in a few weeks. It's run by a bunch of undergraduate medical students, but it's for a great cause. I normally just go for a small amount of time, talk to a few people, donate, and leave. However, I can bring a date if I want to. If you're not into it, I get it, but I just wanted to ask in case you want to." Again, all of these emotions started, but I try to keep calm and collected so he doesn't get any inkling of what I'm thinking.

"I would love that. Formal?" I ask as the subway screeches to a stop. There's nobody else on the subway, but we both stand anyway.

"Yes. That won't be a problem, right? I wouldn't want to drag you to something if you had to buy a new dress."

"Nope. I have tons of dresses I can wear." I say, even though this statement is false and I will need to get a new dress.

We keep pretty quiet on the way home. I watch the sky. Sometimes it's hard to see the stars, but I can see them perfectly. In all honesty, I can't really tell what he's thinking. I pour myself out and he says 'that's good' and then he asks me to a gala on a subway. I think he's okay with me. Like, I don't think I ruined anything, but I can't be sure. Maybe he needs a date this year for some reason and I was a last resort? I don't know. I connect the stars in a line, one after the other as I make my way home. When we get there, he leads me onto the elevator by my hand.

"I had a good time," he says as the elevator ascends to my floor.

"I did, too. I want to do more things like that."

"That's nice to hear. I love those things." The conversation feels like we have to answer under a certain character count. When we get to my floor, he walks me there, even if it's something we hadn't talked about doing before. We get to my door and I turn to him.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yes?" He says, smiling and raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry. You were just quiet and I was scared that I scared you away with something that I said." He presses his lips together in amusement.

"I study serial killers for a living. Showing a little vulnerability is not going to drive me away. I promise." I stop and look at him, the way he was looking at me after I had cried on his sweater.

"You see? It's things like that that I've never been exposed to. I can't think of a single other person I know who would have responded like that. It makes me… happy." After I close my mouth, it dawns on me that my mind is consumed entirely of stupid thoughts. Not a single one going through them is not stupid, but I don't fight it. I welcome the absent-mindedness of this intimacy with open arms. My heart has grown too hefty for its cage and feels as if it must burst or break its bars altogether. I feel a presence on my hips and I quickly realize that it's Spencer's hands.

"You make me happy," He says. We're both silent as if in a chess match, uncertain of who to make the next move.

Without warning, he leans down and kisses me. It's light and sweet and it's not perfect but it might as well be. I feel his chapped lips pull away, muttering something.

"I'm so sorry, I-" I cut him off and gently pull his face back down to mine and kiss him again. My brain is melting and my heart is free and It feels like every negative emotion in the world doesn't exist anymore. Not because he's a great kisser, but because of the release. The final feeling of letting go and _being_ with someone. I don't know what this is or what it means yet, but I am absolutely enthralled with this feeling, and I don't want it to leave anytime soon.

Sadly, for every up there is a down, and for every kiss, there is an end. We pull away and just stare at each other like we're looking at a new star in the sky.

"I thought you said you weren't interested in a boyfriend," He says, looking at me upp and down as if just seeing me for the first time.

"What I said to him?" I smile "I was lying through my teeth. And it doesn't matter if I'm interested in 'having a boyfriend' or the concept of one. I'm interested in you." A smile blooms on his face like a flower in May.

"That's good. I'm interested in you as well." He still looks discombobulated from the kiss, but it's cute. "You, uh. You should get some sleep. Are you working tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I got a call from Shonda earlier today. I'm heading out tomorrow at around one."

"Great. I don't think I'll be able to talk to you, then. So I guess I'm sorry about that."

"Don't worry. We can work something out when we get there." I say. He nods his head in agreement, looking at my door. I open it and go inside, but I don't shut it.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Charlotte."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

When I get into my living room, I don't know what to do other than jump up and down and spin and celebrate. I change into my PJ's and sit on my window seat, looking out at the city, my city. And for once, all I can see for the moment are all of the beautiful things that happen here.


	15. Death of a Bachelor- Panic! at The Diso

_I'm walking the long road, watching the sky fall_

 _The lace in your dress tangles my neck, how do I live?_

 _The death of a bachelor_

 _Letting the water fall_

Charlotte's P.O.V.

Remember when I told Spencer I had a dress for that Gala? That was funny, because I actually don't, and I need to get one before it happens. You want to know what's funnier than that? It's in two days and I still haven't gone dress shopping. Have I told him? Nope. I've told him other things. But not that. I call up Shonda and ask how much she knows about dress shopping, ready to be shot down. She never seemed like the dress wearing type. To my surprise, she jumped on it.

"Do you have the day off this Saturday?"

"Actually, Shonda, I need it by tomorrow."

"Oh." Some silence accompanies this.

"What about this afternoon? I wasn't up to anything important. I'll show you the best places to get a dress. How expensive do you want it to be?" I bite my lip. How pricy could gala dresses get? I didn't really go to prom, so I wouldn't know.

"Not expensive." I say.

"Perfect. I know just where to go."

"Great."

She told me to meet her at some little bistro downtown. I don't really think I expected what I got, even after that phone conversation. We met at the beginning of the day in a small bistro in town.

"So have you done this before? You sounded a little uncertain in the call."

"I was uncertain in the call. I haven't, really. Any dress I've ever worn wasn't something I paid for." She nodded and smiled like I was a lame animal on the side of the road.

"Don't worry about it. I can help you with this. Do you have a color in mind? I didn't want to sound unprepared, so I said the first thing that came to mind.

"Maybe a light blue? I like light blues. She leaves a ten on the table to pay for her coffee and begins leading me to her car. I walked, and she had offered to carpool. We went to a few dozen stores, all of them staring at me with their formally decorated walls covered entirely in colorful fabrics, the names of which I hadn't the faintest idea. I tried on hundreds of dresses. At least, that's what it felt like. With each dress I felt my hair picking up static and getting wilder. when I stepped foot in the first store, I remembered that I absolutely hated clothes shopping where you had to try stuff on. I just like going in, buying some things in my size, and leaving. Eventually, at the third or fourth store, while Shonda is trying to ensure that we'll find something and my morale is getting weaker and weaker, we find something. It's soft and blue, like the sky I love sailing. It doesn't flare out or make any big statements, but it hangs and shines like a waterfall. I can't look at myself in the mirror without smiling.

"Here. We. Go! Look at you. You're gorgeous. I can tell that you really like this one."

"I do. I really do." I say, coming to the sudden realization that I didn't see the price before picking the dress out. "Shonda. Look at the tag. How bad is it?" I feel her surprisingly cold hands on my neck, feeling for the tag and dragging it out.

"Holy smokes."

"Bad?" I ask, almost clenching my teeth in anticipation.

"No, not at all, really. It's great. Is this on clearance? Check for stains." After giving it the run around and not finding anything, we proceed to checkout.

"Nice choice. It's been here forever. I'm glad someone finally found it." The checkout lady utters as she rings it up.

"Speaking of which, I don't think I've asked exactly what this dress is for, have I?" Oh, yes. If I'm shopping with my someone to buy a dress to wear to a gala with my boyfriend, I should probably tell her I have a boyfriend.

"It's for a gala. I'm going with a friend."

"A friend?" Ugh. She reads through me like wet newspaper. "Do you happen to be swapping spit with this friend?" I hesitate, staring wide eyed at the cashier. I hope she's not listening, even though I know she is.

"We don't swap spit. It's just kissing."

"Girl! Who is it? Do I know him?"

"Yeah, you actually do." Her eyes flicked back up to me, wide with intrigue.

"No. Is it who I think it is? Please tell me it's who I think it is and not one of the techies. If it's one of the techies, I think I may have to smack you."

"No, no. You know Spencer, right? That tall guy from the BAU?" She chuckles slowly and looks back up at me as we head out of the store.

"That beanpole who you're always trading googly eyes with? And don't think I don't know about your conversations on the flights. Wiler is none too quiet about it." I can feel myself sinking back, my body looking for some bushes or something to hide in.

"Yep. Him."

"How long have you been together?" It hasn't been long. I think back to the night we kissed, my insides being lit with some type of hot coals of emotion.

"Not long. A few weeks." She seemed happy for me, like she was watching me grow up, even if we've only known each other for a few months.

"I'm glad. You guys seem good for each other. Do you need help with your makeup?" I stop and think, which probably wasn't a good idea, considering we're still on the road in front of the dress store. Shonda grabs my arm to keep me going and asks me again.

"Maybe a little bit. I don't do much of my own makeup. What colors would go well with this?" I shake the bag. She looks at my face intently once we get into her car.

"With your face and hair?" She asked. "Nude lipstick, maybe a light blue eyeshadow. Black Mascara. You'll be gorgeous, not that you aren't already." Her hand traced my jawline tenderly.

"Thanks, mom."

Later that night, I'm struggling. Despite Shonda's advice, I'm struggling so bad. I have my dress, my makeup, and my purse, filled to the brim with three things. My phone, wallet, and insulin tablets. Noticing anything missing? Shoes? Of course. I had some. I swear I had some, but now that I finally need them, they're nowhere to be found. I absolutely despise it. How long until I have to be ready? Well, Spencer and I agreed on seven, which is in five minutes. I'm tearing through my room, looking in things and under things and right after I give up, I see them, tucked beside each other like twins underneath my bed.

My doorbell rings.

I scurry out of my room, making sure to shut my door so he can't see inside. I brush my hands through my hair quickly to make sure it doesn't look like garbage when he comes in.

"Hi!" I say, perhaps a little more enthusiastically than I should have.

"Hey?" He says, his eyes circling me in suspicion. "You okay?" I put my hands through my hair again, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Me? Sure! I was just getting ready, just making sure that I was all set- Gee." I say, finally taking a good look at what he's wearing. He looks so handsome. I've never seen him in anything other than a sweater vest or something similar, so seeing him in this made him seem like a… like a prince. A storybook character. The kind I fell in love with as a child. His bowtie is crooked, so I reach my hands out to fix it.

"The bowtie? Yeah, I know. I tried like, seven times and I still couldn't do it right." He rolls his eyes at the crooked cravat and looks back up at me.

"No," I say. "You look great. Like someone from a movie. Like if James Bond was a genius and also really into Star Trek," He giggles and eyes me mischievously, like he has an idea.

"qatlho', Charlotte. SoHvaD legh mInDu'wIjvaD neH SoH je lu'. Hov rur mInDu'" It takes a second for me to go through the sentence word for word. I had flashbacks of high school French tests.

Thank you, Charlotte. You look lovely as well. Your eyes are like stars. At first I'm triumphant that I can translate it, but the feeling quickly fades to a melting feeling. Like there's magic or warms coals or chipmunks running through my lungs. I feel excited and energized and utterly calm at the same time.

"qatlho', Spencer. qo' jIHvaD qej 'oH." Thank you. It means the world to me. He smiles back, pleasantly surprised that I could still remember or maybe that I even listened to the tapes at all. Of course I did. I had often sneaked them with me on plane rides when Spencer couldn't talk or something like that. I put an earbud in one ear and left the official headphones on overtop of them so I could hear any chatter should it be there.

"You really do look great. That dress is ravishing." He says the last sentence quickly, like he's scared to say it in the first place. His cheeks get a little red.

"What, this old thing?" I say, making a debonair gesture. I offer my arm for him to take. "I thought I'd never get to wear it again." He takes my arm and looks behind me, looking troubled.

"Charlotte, the first time you wore this, did you wear the tag with it, too?" I freeze in my tracks like a paused movie. I sigh in defeat.

"No. Well, technically yes. This is the first time I've worn it. I bought it this morning."

"Why didn't you tell me you didn't have a dress? I wouldn't have counted on you to get one. We could have done something else."

"Because I wanted to! Well, I mean, I'm not a party person, and neither are you, but you were invited to this nice gala, and it seemed like an experience I would feel bad should I deprive you of it. And you know what they say about big parties?"

"What?"

"They're the most intimate. At small parties, you have to talk to everyone, but if there's tons of people it can be just us. Just two, well dressed introverts eating someone else's food and enjoying each other's company. It was a cheap dress anyways," I say, turning my back to him.

"Can you tear the tag off? I wasn't thinking when I put it on." He does so and we set out to the lobby of our building.

"Something I forgot to tell you. The gala is a couple miles outside of town, so I rented a car to drive there. Taking a taxi would just be ludacris, you know?" I don't see a problem. This guy went to Caltech and MIT, of course he can drive a car.

"Sure. Sounds good. Can I have radio duty?"

"Absolutely." He said leaving me oblivious to the atrocity I'm about to witness.

Okay, just because someone's gone to some impressive colleges does not mean he can drive. I hold on to the door for dear life. I completely forgot about the radio. We were on the road for a half hour to forty five minutes at most, and I didn't touch it once. He wasn't a danger, but my lungs sure got a wakeup call. He was so rough with the brakes that I was surprised that my seatbelt didn't go through me. When we get to the venue, I take a breath and lean my head back on the seat.

"You okay? I think they're bringing out appetizers in a few. C'mon!" I smile and get out of the car.

"Maybe I'll drive home." I say. He shrugs and holds out his arm for me to hold. My nails are colorful, which is something I'm not necessarily used to. We look like movie stars. I correct my posture and take a deep breath before heading into the hall.

We are greeted with two men, one taking coats and hats and another welcoming guests. The second one was dressed like maybe he had some power around here. Maybe he was the host.

"Doctor Reid! Fantastic to see you, as always. And you brought a plus one. Well, there certainly is a first time for everything." He calls. Spencer smiles cordially, but none too excited. Like seeing an old teacher instead of an old friend.

"Doctor Wellswing. Thank you. To you as well. Yes, this is my companion, Captain Charlotte Wills. She's a pilot for the bureau." Dr. Wellswing grabs my hand and shakes it once before kissing it lightly. His hands are cold and uncomfortably leathery and his lips felt like worms on my hand.

"Captain Wills. Aren't we just getting all kinds of people here tonight. Enjoy yourselves." He smiles, sending vibes leaning more towards 'Let me sell you a used car.' rather than those of a fancy party host.

"He's… a character." I note, staring at my feet as we headed to a beautifully set table in the corner. He smiles, burying his mouth in my hair, nearly touching my ear. I have to physically keep from letting him know that this excites me.

"You should read his published studies. If you've read one, you've read them all." I smile and giggle. He pulls my chair out for me and proceeds to sit in his own.

"So, I'm your companion? Where shall we travel to next, doctor? Is the T.A.R.D.I.S. waiting for us outside?" He laughs, looking at the swarm of well dressed doctors and lawyers surrounding us.

"Sorry. I couldn't think of a word. 'plus one' makes it sound like you're my sister. 'significant other' sounds like we're in one of those 'it's complicated' relationships,' partner sounds like we're business associates-"

"Or gay lovers" I continue. "'Girlfriend' makes us look like those two kids making out in the mall, 'My intended' sounds like we've been together for years. 'Companion' sounds like we're British time travelers here to stop some sort of incredulous crime against humanity. I'll take it." A waiter puts two water glasses on our table. I pick it up and raise it to him. "To fighting space crime, Doctor." He raises his glass and clinks it against mine.

"To fighting space crime, Companion." We sit there, talking about the purpose of the gala and why he was originally invited.

"Wait. He was your bully at MIT? I didn't think MIT had bullies? I always thought of it like a cow farm. No bullies, just a bunch of happy, math grazing cows living together in math harmony."

"Technically, he was never a _bully_ bully. He liked to mess with me. On my first day on campus, he convinced me to do his Cognitive Sciences homework for a week as an initiation ritual to get into the applied physics club." I let my jaw drop, shaking my head.

"I know, right? That was such a mean thing to do to a kid."

"I'm not shaking my head at that. I'm shaking my head that you'd do some guy's homework for a week just to get into an _applied physics_ club."

"It was trite anyways. They were boring." He smirks, taking a sip from his water. Before I can say anything, a waiter sets a plate of food down in front of me and one in front of him.

"Spencer, I didn't order anything, yet. I haven't even been given a menu."

"Oh, no. It's a preselected course. It's often like that on occasions. You aren't allergic to anything, are you?" I shake my head.

"No, I'm fine. Spencer?"

"Charlotte?"

"What is this?" It looks like a meat, but I can't tell what part of the pig/cow/chicken/lamb it is.

"I believe it's foies gras." He says. I eye it, cutting into it with my fork.

"What is Fwah Grah?" I ask, taking a bite. It's delicious, whatever it is. It's buttery and rich and it almost seems to melt in my mouth. Spencer sets his napkin on his lap, cutting his foies gras into bites.

"A french delicacy. It is the liver of a goose that has been fed only bread." I don't know how to respond. I already have a mouthful of it. I dismiss the fact that it is goose liver and swallow it. I don't know how much I like it anymore. I focus on the bed of leafy greens it's situated on, occasionally cutting it up and burying it under what's left to give the illusion of eating it. We finish and the waiters take our plates.

"Dessert?" He asks.

"No thanks," I say, less out of not wanting dessert, and more out of fear that it would be something like pureed snail with a chocolate mousse top and berry compote. I look up at the dance floor. There's a band, big and beautiful sounding. It reminds me of the Mardi Gras festival Spencer and I went to. Like the festival, there's dancing. It's not like the festival's dancing, however. It's just the run of the mill gala guests slow dancing in each other's arms to the band playing something that Sinatra probably sang. Maybe I'll listen to him when I get home.

"Dancing? Don't tell me you can't dance. I still remember the Mardi Gras show." I stand up and offer my hand.

"I do too," he says, his cheeks turning a fantastic carnation color. He take my hand and escorts me to the dancefloor. We join hands and I bring my face close to his chest. It was just like the dance in the snow, except it's warmer and I'm wearing flattering clothes and I'm not crying. I'm glad that I'm not crying. I recognize the song that's playing, but I don't know from where. It's calming, being out in the middle of the room with him, like having a security blanket dance with me.

"Thank you," He says, looking past me at the things I cannot see.

"For?" I ask, my nose nearly touching his chin.

"Coming with me. Buying a dress for the occasion even though you didn't have to. Pretending to eat the foies gras."

"You could tell?"

"Charlotte, I was sitting next to you. It's okay. it's not my favorite, either. But thank you for it. Thank you for being you."

"Really?" I ask. "Thank you, Spencer. You weren't embarrassed of me and you didn't hide anything. I want you to know what I said a few weeks ago wasn't some spur of the moment 'epiphany.' It was something I rolled around in my head from the moment you started standing in the cockpit." He doesn't say anything. He leans down and kisses me again. I can't decide if this one was better than the last, or the first one. As a romantic interest, Spencer didn't really kiss much. I'm assuming it has to do with the touching thing. However, the more he gains the courage to do it, the more often it happens, and the more I learn to savor it when it happens. We separate and keep dancing, alone in a room with hundreds of people in it.

I catch something over his shoulder before the song is over. It's Trevor. Trevor was on my team of pilots back at training. Somewhat of a follower, and with Sloan acting as a faux leader, he fit into the dynamic like a puzzle piece. Behind Trevor, I see my old superior. He was the one who signed the slip and gave the ultimate say whether I was leaving or staying. I tightned my hands in anger.

"Are you okay? Your hands just-"

"Yes. Stay like this for one second." I say, spying at Trevor and what I realize is the entire team behind him. They're all eating at a large table next to Doctor Wellswing. I wonder why they're here. They were obviously invited, but why _them?_ I may be curious, but I am not curious enough to go over and ask. On one end of the table is my superior, and at the other end is Sloan, looking dead in the eyes discussing something with the waiter. He points to his foies gras every once in awhile. I assume he's complaining about it for some reason. He doesn't seem to be putting much heart into it. He's like a bored cat playing with a trapped mouse for some kind of relief from his ennui.

Spencer's pocket starts vibrating. He takes it out and escorts me to the side of the room. I position myself so Sloan won't be able to see me. Before Spencer is done talking, he grabs my wrist and starts running to the car. I can't ask him what's happening because he's still on the phone. All I'm getting are little bits of conversation.

"Now?"

"Where is this?"

"How many so far?"

"Do we know why?"

"Have the kids moved at all?"

He opens the car door for the drivers side but gets in the passenger's side. He wants me to drive.

"Spencer, what is this? Why are we in the car?"

"Drive."

"Spencer? Why am I doing this?!" I say, pulling the car into reverse and backing out onto the road. Before he can answer, my phone rings. It's Shonda.

"Hello?"

"I need you here as soon as possible. Get here as soon as you can. Don't go home and grab your bag, don't take a break to get coffee. Get here." I listen to her, more questions forming in my head, none of the original ones being answered.

"I'm doing that, Captain, I'm just asking what I'm heading into." She takes a breath and I can tell she's stressed. I don't think I've ever heard her in such a state.

"There's a gated community in West Virginia," She says. "A gated one. There's gunshots going off every couple of hours. There's screaming. Nobody knows what's going on."

"What? Why can't they get in?" She takes a breath. a giant, shaky, one, like she's gathering strength.

"Every kid from the gated community is standing outside. They're not letting anyone in, and they're not saying anything. Some are crying. None are talking."

"How many are dead?" I ask, just in awe at the situation itself. My heart feels like it's sinking into my stomach.

"We don't know, Songbird. Just get over here as soon as you can, please."

"Will do. I'll be there in a half hour." Before she can say anything, I hang up.

"Charlotte, it took us forty five minutes to get here."

"I know," I say, pressing my foot on the gas pedal farther.

Shonda's P.O.V.

I know why it's taking her so long to get here. Of course she doesn't live a half hour away. I almost feel bad for telling her to come here instead of going home to get her bag, but I knew she wasn't going to be at home when I called her. I had been. I have a small house on one of the quieter streets of town. I got the call from one of the higher ups, and before I knew it, I was scrambling around my house, turning off 'Judge Judy' and driving away in my US Air Force sweats. I started crying on my way, but I wasn't going to let anyone know why. I was pretty good at gaining my composure when needed. I could only hope it wasn't the community I had in mind when they said Liberty Estates, but I didn't know how many Liberty Estates were in West Virginia. I made myself stop crying before I got in here, and now here I am, inspecting an empty plane so we can start flying as soon as my copilot and the final member of the BAU team were here. When it's fine, I taxi it over and sit inside, looking at an old photo I always kept in my purse.

I'm coming, Jacob.

Hotchner's P.O.V.

I'm running around the Bullpen like a chicken with its head cut off. We never get assigned to anything like the possible systematic slaughter of a people, and we are never given only a few hours of leeway to prepare and get there. Strauss is insisting on going, even though I can tell she's drunk. I've tried arguing with her, but I can't spend too much time on it because I Have so much else to do. She is adamant about going. Fine. I'll have to keep a close eye on her to make sure she doesn't say something or do something drastic. I've called everyone on the team except for Reid. I take out my phone and dial his number. I guess I could be overworking myself mostly for the fact that I must, and also to distract myself from how disturbed I am by this as a parent. Kids, as young as Jack and younger, guarding some monster as he does god knows what and makes them act as protection

It makes me sick.

Spencer's P.O.V.

When we get there, Charlotte's knuckles are still white from gripping the wheel. Being that she doesn't usually have a car, she parks in a handicapped spot.

"I'll pay for it when I get back." She says. When we enter the building, we walk together, hand in hand, until we have to part ways.

"I'll see you on the plane." She says, giving me a small hug and a quick peck on the cheek. Even after she runs down the hall towards the aviation unit, I can still feel the place on my cheek where her lips were. It kind of tingles. I get to the bullpen and am immediately bombarded with files and information. Garcia is here and now she's demanding on riding along as well. That's pretty normal for some cases. Strauss is following Hotch around, slurringly speaking orders to him that he had no intent on doing. I gather what I can and regroup with the rest of them. We all climb the stairs to the plane without saying a word.

Nobody has really said anything to me yet, but we know why we're all here.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I run into the common room, my purse dangling from my arm like a wood duck with wheels dangles from the hands of a toddler. I look around for anyone besides the techies.

"Shonda?" I ask. "Cap?! Where are you?" She emerges from her office, brushing her hand through her unbrushed curls. She's wearing old US Air Force sweats, so I'm glad I'm not the only one wearing something a little unfitting.

"Why was I called here? And how am I going to fly a plane in this?" Shonda wipes her hands together and tosses me a spare jacket from her locker. Her face is drained, void of all emotion and the typical Shonda spark.

"You were called because I called you. This is an emergency. Take this. Tie it up." She said, tossing me a ponytail holder.

Of all the ways I've been instructed on flying a plane, never have I flown one in a dress.

Spencer's P.O.V.

When I get on the plane, I am solemnly greeted by Charlotte and Captain Pierce. Charlotte looks confused and miserable. Her dress is tied up to the back of her knees, spilling like a waterfall to the floor. Captain pierce looks more like a captain would seem when she's not wearing her uniform. I shake hands with Captain Pierce and shake Charlotte's hand. She pulls me into a hug, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing me tightly. She buries her nose into my shoulder, taking a few deep breaths into my suit coat. At first, I'm apprehensive that my coworkers will see, but then again, who cares if they do? I reach my head down and kiss her on her head. Before we break and she goes to get in the cockpit, she whispers something in my ear.

"Be safe."

Hotchner's P.O.V.

After saying a few quick greetings to the pilots who were obviously given as much warning as we were to this mission, Captain Pierce asks to have a few private words with me alone.

"Agent Hotchner, I would like to offer my help in this case. I have over ten years in the service and five years here. I know how to fly almost anything, and I would help out in a heartbeat." I consider what she's saying carefully. While I am no doubt appreciative of her gesture, I am the slightest bit curious as to why she's offering her help.

"Thank you, Captain. While the gesture is very kind, I'm wondering as to why you're offering services this time." She shrugs her shoulders and rubs her lips together.

"I know how help, or at least the offer can be useful in a stressful situation like this." She stops, hesitating on her next words. "I also have family members who live in the area. I promise you, through my many years of experience, this won't cause me to act irrationally, just…" She stops, taking a breath for composure.

"Just let me help."

Charlotte's P.O.V.

Shonda actually takes longer to get to the cockpit than I do. She sits in her seat and throws her head back on her headrest.

"Of all the things you wanted to look pretty doing in that dress tonight, Songbird." She puts her seat belt and headset on. "I'm so sorry that this has to be one of them."

"It's fine," I note, setting up my own. "It'll be a new experience. I've never flown a plane in heels before." She smiles like she appreciates my effort to add some lightheartedness to the situation, but it's not what she needs. As she's calibrating things and setting things up, I get a text on my phone.

 _I thought you said you didn't want a boyfriend, Charlotte._

I turn my phone off. This is too much. There are things I need to think of, and there are things I do not.

And he is not worth thinking about right now.

 **Hey, guys! Sorry for being so absolutely late. I've been busy with extracurriculars and It's really hard to write with all I have going on. I'm going to try to make up for some of the time I've lost. We'll see what happens.**

 **Love and Happiness,**

 **Sarah Ann Dipity (dontforgetmelondon)**


	16. Take Me To Church-Hozier Part One

_Every Sunday's getting more bleak_

 _A fresh poison each week_

 _"We were born sick," you heard them say it_

Charlotte's P.O.V.

When asked about why she wore her usual formal clothes during her pregnancy with me, instead of something more comfortable, my mother would (apparently) always respond with

"Darling, I am _always_ comfortable in heels and dresses." I am not pregnant and I still can't understand how you can be remotely comfortable in this. This is the most uncomfortable flight I've ever been on. The tulle-netting-stuff underneath it all itched the underside of my legs like none other. I tried occasionally adjusting it without Shonda noticing, but I don't think she would have noticed it if I had taken the dress off entirely. She was in a daze for the entire thing, letting her eyes trace the landscape and her shoulders droop in a way that I originally thought was impossible for her being. She would sigh and lay her head back against the rest once in awhile. That's all I really heard from her for the duration of the flight. I know it was just me, but I felt the flight get colder as it went on. I probably would have benefitted from a jacket, but if I'm being honest, I originally planned for Spencer to put his suit coat over my shoulders on the way home, and that didn't happen, so it looks like I'll just have to cope. When we land, I rest my own head against the seat, reluctant to know why we're here in the first place. We stand and let everyone leave the plane before we do. Spencer gives me a look, but doesn't touch my hand. I think it's because he's right in front of the SSA. His eyes soften and the corners of his mouth look like they're being tugged into a solemn look of recognition. Like a hug in a look.

"Captain Wills, Captain Pierce," Agent Hotchner addresses us. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with us. This mission was a bit unforeseen," He says, trying to find the words. "We couldn't find any nearby leisure pads for pilots, and we haven't booked anything. I'm sure the officers down at the station wouldn't mind getting a few chairs and a deck of cards for you two. Unless, of course, you wish to book something yourselves. That would be fine as well-"

"No." Shonda interrupts. "That will be fine, Agent Hotchner. Thank you." Agent Hotchner stares at Shonda for a second, like he regrets what he just said, but he says nothing and escorts us to a car.

The ride there is silent and kind of awkward. What do I have anything to do with some random slaughtering in West Virginia? Well, if I didn't have anything to do with it before, I guess I do now. When we get to the station, Shonda and I are escorted into an empty room with a table and two chairs. She begins to argue with Agent Hotchner in silent whispers so I can't hear. I feel like I'm five years old again, not allowed to hear what the big kids are saying because I'm too young to hear it. There's a window on the left side of the room. I see Spencer through it, sifting through boxes like a madman and making a bunch of near incomprehensible marks on a whiteboard. When he talks, I can't hear him, but I can tell that it's urgent. He makes big sweeping motions with his hands and puts pictures up near certain spots. This is the first time I've seen the team in action. They all look very focused and organized and determined. None of them even notice me through the window. I sit and watch as they make more gestures, read more files, and write more things on the board.

 _Guarding the town_

 _Six hours._

 _Ages 10-18_

 _One shot= no misses_

 _Children willing to attack._

I know what none of this means, really. I know what the individual words mean, but I'm having a hard time formulating it into an actual story, but none of it seems good. It seems like something out of an old movie or comic book. Some giant plot that could only be orchestrated by a Batman-esque villain so he can rule the world or sell arms or something. I don't watch a lot of Batman anymore. I come to the realization that this is why they're here. They're the Batmen and women. There is no one who can save these children here but them. This is the process that leads to it. The change. The positive change I want to see can only come with hard work and hectic paper throwing and whiteboards with problems being ticked off one by one. Shonda sits down beside me and plays with the cards. She shuffles them and shuffles them. She's waiting for something, though I don't know what. I wouldn't think that she'd be the person who would normally mind this sort of thing. She doesn't say a word to me, and I don't necessarily mind. It's not that I don't want to talk to her, but I'm kind of enamored with the work being done here. Not that I'm happy that it had to happen, but I like to see him think, to put his mind into his work to see how far he can make it go. After a while, the team sits at a table and trades talking points. Spencer speaks up a few times. Sometimes the team seems to approve of his idea, and sometimes they do not. He sees me through the glass at one point. I smile, and he smiles back, small enough for his team not to see. I look away so he can focus. I turn around to talk to Shonda, but she's nowhere to be found. I stand up and go to the doorway. I can hear her angrily whispering to Agent Hotchner.

"Are there any? I don't think so. Agent, I can do this. Please. I know I'm emotionally involved, and I'm assuming that's frowned upon, but you need to trust me here. You don't have many options." He hesitates. I almost check around the corner to see if he just plain walked away. He hasn't.

"Captain Pierce, you bring up good points, but not necessarily the most realistic ones. For one, I don't know how your plan would work or if you could help at the stage we're at. Should your idea pass through what we think will work, which I am unaware if it will or not, I'm not even sure if we can legally allow you to do this."

"Sir, do you hear that? Or that? Those are seconds. Sixty in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, and every six of those, someone dies. We can face legal repercussions later, sir. I feel like I was sent here for a reason. I feel like you need to know that." Even I am taken aback by her use of words. I mean, she's normally very blunt, but this was a step ahead even for her.

"I'll keep that in mind, Captain Pierce." I can hear her breathing.

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner." I run to my chair and sit back down. She comes back in and sits down in the chair across from me.

"How're ya holding up, kid?" She asks, putting her primary focus back into shuffling the cards.

"Fine," I say, stealing another glance back at Spencer. He seems to be working diligently. We wait again, this time for a longer amount of time. Different people go up to the board and erase things and replace things. After a while, The agents all stand up and start talking. Agent Hotchner comes back in our room and requests to speak to Shonda alone. I assume my previous position and listen to what they have to say. Or, I try to. They're speaking in such hushed whispers now that I can't even hear them with my ear right next to the doorframe. Judging by tones, though, Shonda's pretty happy to hear whatever he's telling her. I catch one thing towards the end.

"In the case of which you're needed, your subordinate _has_ been educated in piloting a helicopter, correct?"

"Absolutely. She was the finest in her class."

I run to my seat and grab the cards, pretending to shuffle them like Shonda had been doing.

"You might want to get ready, Kid." She says, leaning down to tie her shoes.

"What are we doing?" I ask, my stomach suddenly forming knots at the thought of what I might have to do.

"You _can_ fly a helicopter, right?" While I was taught back in training, it wasn't a main focus. If you asked, I probably could remember

So I better start remembering now.

Derek's P.O.V.

We know our current course of action. Spencer gathers some of the files and some of our speculation notes and we get into separate vehicles. Spencer, Emily, Myself, and JJ all get into a car to explore the edges of the town to see if we can ask the kids a few questions. Hotchner and Rossi are taking the two pilots to the local hospital where there's a helicopter waiting for them. If we can't get the kids to let us in, we're going to call them so they can fly over the town to see what's happening. The ride is a little bit awkward. We had done most of our talking for the case in the station, and it seems awkward or disrespectful to talk about anything else while there was something so serious going on at the present time. It gives us all time to process and think about this. The car ride is short and silent. Spencer checks his phone several times. I wonder how long he's been with the pilot. He kissed her on the head when he came onto the plane. I don't ask him now, because I shouldn't be focusing on this now.

We pull up to the gated community and are greeted with a ring of kids on the outskirts, most of them holding hands, some of them crying, none of them talking. We all get out of the car and get to work. Hotch starts talking with the police force already there, and I try to talk to the kids. There's one kid who only seems to be about ten years old. He's crying and shivering. The kid to his right looks older, in his mid-teens. He's staring at the younger one with malice and sadness in his eyes. I walk to the ten-year-old, but I keep about ten feet of distance.

"Hi." Silence. He looks at me with a longing to speak in his eyes, but they return to the boy beside him. Their gazes meet. The boy looks at the ground.

"My name is Derek. What's your name?" He looks back up at me, his eyes reflecting the light from the moon and the surrounding cars.

"Vincent." The young man standing next to him snapped his head to the kid.

"Shut up! Is that so much to ask?"

"Sorry." He says. He looks back at the ground with a small trail of tears making their way down his face.

"That wasn't nice." I diverted my attention to the older boy. He doesn't say anything and looks away in smug defiance.

"What's his name?" I ask Vincent. He stays quiet for a long time, like he's weighing his options. After he sees the older boy looking at him like he had been before, he makes his decision.

"His name is Alex." Alex snaps back at him and nearly grabs him with his hands.

"Stop! Stop it! Do you _want_ them to die? Is that it?! Just shut up and stop talking like he told you to!" While he yells, I notice tears trailing Alex's face as well. Vincent starts actively crying, breathing heavily, and clutching at the wall behind him, avoiding eye contact with Alex.

"Who's going to die? Vincent, Who's going to die?"

"Now _you_ need to shut up!" Alex screams at me, his every word in body language wanting to take me down, but something kept him grounded in his spot.

"Don't listen to Alex, Vincent. Who's going to die?"

"Don't say a word! Don't you say a damn word to him, you pathe-"

"Don't listen to him. Just answer my question. Listen to me." His breathing had quickened. He was caught between two people and two actions. He put his hands to his ears.

"My parents! My parents are gonna die if we let anyone in. We can't let anyone in!" The children around him simply stared at him in shock and frustration. I ran back to the rest of the team, who were all watching me by the time I was finished.

"Is this what I think it is?" Prentiss asks.

"Their parents are being used as hostages inside. The children guard the gates. Has anyone tried getting past them?" A police officer who had previously been talking to them sighs.

"Yes, with bad results. They work as a team. If someone tries getting in, they attack. And from what we've experienced, a random amount of them have guns.

"Did someone get shot?" Hotchner asks.

"No. We managed to avoid that situation, but only barely. Whatever is on the inside, they really don't want us to see.

"Does that mean…" Spencer asks

"I'll call Rossi and tell the pilots their course of action." I saw Spencer look at the ground and press his lips together. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"She'll be okay, Pretty boy." He glances back up at me and puts his head back down.

"Thanks." He mumbles.

Charlotte's P.O.V.

Agent Rossi remained silent for most of the ride to the hospital. I asked several times if we were going to be flying, but the only answer I get is "It's up in the air" and I can't tell if he was joking or not. Either way, I still don't have an answer. It's starting to settle in my stomach that I haven't eaten dinner, and I don't think they keep snacks in these cars. I suffer in silence. As we get closer to the hospital, Rossi gets a call.

"Yes? Really? They do? Aaron, we're not even there yet. It's right in front of us. Two minutes, at most. Yeah. Alright. Bye." He puts his phone away and steps on the gas.

"That was Agent Hotchner. So what's happening is, the adults are being kept hostage in the community, and the kids are acting as a guard team so no one can get in. Some of them have guns." Shonda takes a sharp breath in.

"We don't want to hurt the kids, so you're going to go up in the helicopter and fly over the city and tell us what you see. There are gunshots going off every six hours, so we only have a limited amount of time until the next one goes off. Can you do this?" Shonda speaks for both of us.

"Absolutely."

We were immediately escorted to the helicopter pad at the hospital. We strapped on our headphones and went over our course of action with Agent Rossi.

"Just fly over and tell us what you can see. Don't get too close to the ground. The communications specialists are working to connect you with Agent Hotchner down on the ground with your headsets. Good luck, ladies."

"Luck? We won't even need it." Shonda says, looking uncharacteristically confident for how she's been acting these past few hours.

"Ready, Songbird?"

"Yep." I say. It's a stupid answer, but I don't know how to respond. I'm in an itchy dress with an empty stomach and I'm being expected to help fly something I haven't flown in months.

"Good enough. Are we clear to take off, base?"

"10-4, Captain Pierce."

"Let's go."

I admit, as much as I like flying planes, there's something about taking a helicopter off the ground that has some sort of… magic appeal. You don't need a running start or anything. You just go. Granted, it's hard to appreciate this when you're trying to focus on not crashing it, but it isn't too hard. Shonda seems to have most things under control. I try to appreciate my view on the ride there, because I know what I might see when I get there won't be as pleasing.

"You're a good kid. You know that? Most people would have a worse reaction to all of this. You just roll with the punches. Be proud of that." She twisted the grip on her left and we sped up.

"Thank you." I didn't say much, but I feel like she knew how much this meant to me.

After a few minutes, my core began dropping. I could see the lights of the police vehicles and the lights within the community.

"Captains Pierce and Wills, are you there?"

"Agent Hotchner. Nice to hear your voice."

"Likewise, Captain. We're just heading towards your location."

"I see that. Be careful, Captain."

"Always, Agent Hotchner." We started passing the gates to see what was in the community, and for a second, it looked normal. Happy little houses sleeping together in the quiet darkness only being interrupted by the bright lights of the bottom of the helicopter. As we got to the center, though, we began to see.

"What's going on?" Hotchner asks nervously

"I can't tell. We're too high off the ground, Agent. I'm going to have to lose altitude to see."

"Captain Pierce, it's too risky. Land it outside so we can plan our next course of action."

"This _is_ our course of action, and I'm going through with it." She began slowly descending over what I could now identify as a crowd of people gathering around a central landmark in the center of town."

"Agent Hotchner," I say. "Do you know what's in the center of the community? A landmark or statue of some kind?"

"That's a statue of General Horatio Gates. Is that where they are?"

"If by _they_ , you mean everybody, then yes. Everyone is crowding around the platform that it's placed on except for one person. I can't tell who he is. Red hair? Yes. He has red 's a second person next to him, but he's kneeling. An-"

"Agent Pierce, what is it?"

"There's blood on the platform. A ton of it. I can't tell if it belongs to either of them." Over Agent Hotchner's reply, all I can hear are the explosive booms of a gunshot, and the sound of pierced metal directly below me. Hotchner interrupts himself.

"Are those gunshots? Get out of there, now. They might be shooting at you."

"Oh, they are, Agent Hotchner." Shonda assures him. As we're beginning to ascend so we can leave, a final bullet pierces the front of the helicopter at the bottom, flying through the glass and heading straight into Shonda's abdomen.

"Oh my god. Shonda!" I shout.

"What's wrong?" Hotchner asks over the headset.

"Captain Pierce has been shot, Age-"

"Quit fussing about it. I'm fine"

"Agents, go to the nearby field and land the helicopter immediately. I'll have paramedics waiting for you when you land."

"You got it." She says. She takes off her own headset and put it on the floor and motions for me to do the same. Her face is losing color and the wound at her thigh is bleeding more and more by the second.

"Songbird." She says as we pass over the outer perimeter of the town. "Can you land this thing? I-" She stops to gasp for air. "I'm going to lay down in the back."

"Absolutely." Not. Oh god. This is the most important thing to know, and I have to do it alone. I slide into her seat and try to ignore all of the blood now seeping into my dress.

I take a deep breath and try to remember what I can from school. I realize that if Shonda lays down, there's a better chance of her losing consciousness. That can't happen. I have an idea.

"Captain Pierce, you can lay down, but I want to keep talking until we land. You see, I can fly a helicopter."

"You can fly a helicopter."

"But I can't remember how to land one. Can you talk me through it?"

"You don't remember how to land? Why didn't you tell me this?!"

"Calm down. Just talk me through the landing."

"Okay. Slow to forty knots and begin to descend now."

"Of course. I had no idea. How long do I do this?"

"Watch your vertical speed. Is it under 300?" She asks, sounding more sleepy by the word coming out of her mouth.

"Yes. We're steady." I grabbed the headset below me and put it on my head, even though it was too drenched in blood.

"Agent Hotchner, She's getting tired. How do I keep her conscious?"

"Try to minimize blood loss by tying something around her leg."

"I can't do that."

"Why?"

"I'm flying the helicopter."

" Land as soon as you can. We'll have personnel get on the helicopter and fly her to the hospital."

"Okay. I'll see what I can do. Shonda?"

"Cap, Captain."

"Of course. I'm sorry. Can you take your jacket and tie it around your leg? The bleeding one?"

"Yep. I can do that."

"Perfect. When you're done, tell me the next step."

"Okay. Slow airspeed to 25 knots and lift the nose of the airplane."

"Helicopter."

"Right."

"If I lift the nose, I can't see my landing site anymore." The large 'X' made of industrial flashlights by those on the ground was now out of my line of sight.

"That's fine. It's supposed to you're really really close, just land it like an airplane. Just slide onto the pad and when the pad slides beneath you, apply the parking break, and then reduce all power."

"Will do, Cap." I didn't tell her I wouldn't be reducing power, but I would be getting out of the helicopter. I held my breath as I slid into the tall grass of the field, the helicopter landing safely on the patch of grass. It shakes a bit at first, but it remains steady. I open the doors and get out before the med crew and replacement pilot get in the Helicopter and crowd around Shonda. Agent Hotchner is on the ground, waiting for me as I get out, sticky and red and near hyperventilating, now that I think about it.

"You did a good job, Captain."

"Is she going to be okay?"

"We're not sure. We don't know her condition. Come with me. We're going to send you back to the station."

"No, I want to help."

"You've already helped us immensely, Captain Wills. If we need you, we'll call." While he's walking, I get lost in my thoughts, beginning to mumble to myself.

"She needs to be okay."

"What?"

"Agent Hotchner, I would be one thousand times more comfortable if I could stay here. I need to know what happens."

"That's nice, but protocol calls for-"

"I'm staying here, Agent. I'll wait in the back of the car for all I care. Bottom line is, I'm staying."


	17. Take Me To Church- Hozier Part Two

_In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene_

 _Only then I am human_

 _Only then I am clean_

Spencer's P.O.V.

I see Hotch and Charlotte walking back to the small camp of cars and tents that we've set up beside Liberty Estates. The children watch us with sadness, malice, and fear in their eyes. More fear than anything else. Charlotte looks the same way she did at the beginning of the night, except for the fact that she looks like she's been tossed through a horror film. There's blood soaked into her dress, mostly along the bottom, but the closer she gets, I can see that it found a way onto the back as well. Her hair is tangled and frizzy. She looks miserable. I cursed myself internally for ever telling her about the Gala. Not only did she not have any time to get ready for this, but I'm not even sure that she had much fun while she was there. The helicopter presumably carrying Captain Pierce lifts off the ground and heads back towards the direction of the hospital. I swallow and hope that no vital arteries or veins were hit, but judging by the amount of blood on Charlotte's dress, I would say that something was hit, maybe severed. I keep the thought out of my mind and try to focus on the task at hand. I need to know what's happening on the inside.

"Captain Wills?" I ask, now running to her and Hotchner. "Are you okay? Were you hit anywhere?" Her eyes lit up a little bit at the sight of me, even though I probably look like a wet noodle while I'm running.

"Yes, I'm fine. I wasn't hit. Just Captain Pierce." She says. She's avoiding looking me in the eyes, and she's speaking very professionally so I assume that she's trying to make up for the incident on the airplane. If she talks about Captain Pierce around me, she'll normally just call her 'Cap' or 'Shonda.'

"Can you tell me what you saw while you were hovering overtop of the statue?" Se shakes her head and stares at the ground.

"No. Nothing that I didn't mention over the radio. Two men on the platform of the statue, which was covered in blood. One was kneeling and facing the othe-r...one."

"Is something wrong? Do you remember something that you didn't note over the radio, Charlotte?" I only realize that I called her by her first name once I had already said it.

"They were _all_ kneeling. The crowd around the statue. Everyone was kneeling before him."

"It _was_ a him?" I ask, beginning to build the base of a profile in my head.

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Can you describe him?"

"He was the only one standing, he had red hair, he was wearing… white."

"White?"

"Impeccable white. Just his shirt. His pants were blue."

"Like, blue jeans?"

"Probably. I was still pretty high up. I don't think I can remember anything else."

"That's fine. It's enough."

"Charlotte, how old was he?" Hotch piped up just as we passed the threshold of the small camp." At first she was taken aback by the fact that he called her 'Charlotte,' but she focused on his question. She bit her lip and squinted

"Younger. He wasn't an adult, but he was of similar size. I'd say sixteen to eighteen years old."

"Thank you, Captain," He diverted his attention to me. "Reid, gather the team up underneath the communications tent. Let's see if we can start a profi-" He's interrupted by the sound of a single, echoing gunshot wound coming from the middle of the town. Some children try not to react. Some begin to cry. Others just scream in frustration. I check my watch. It's midnight.

"We need to get this done," Hotch states. "Fast."

Charlotte's P.O.V.

After the gun goes off, Agent Hotchner is very focused on getting his team together to discuss the new evidence. This also means that I have to sit and wait in the back of some random SUV, with my (Surprisingly quickly drying) dress and watch everyone run around and do something while I do nothing. Yes, I'm aware that I literally explicitly asked for this, but even this is better than having an anxiety attack at the station over two completely separate issues. Shonda can't die. I don't know what I would do if she did. What if I had to spend the rest of my days with Wiler? What if I had to go to a funeral for one of the only friends I've ever made not a year after meeting them? I put it out of my mind and focus on more comfortable things, like my dress. My dress is drying and it feels like I'm sitting in a chair made of dried leaves. I wish I could just get rid of the bottom part of it so I don't have to deal with it, but I have no way of doing so. I stare out the window and watch those under the comms tent discuss. Spencer's on the end. They all seem more frantic than before, and more frustrated as well. There's one there who was younger than Hotch, but older than Spencer. I'm assuming that it's Derek. He talks for a long time, slower than everyone else. He makes a gesture to the kids lining the outer edge of the wall of Liberty Estates. Some are bored, some are crying. They're all just being kids, and yet, none of them move. The team collectively follows Derek as he walks over to one child who's crying on the ground. His face is red, snot bubbling from his nose, the whole nine yards. While they're away from the Communications tent, I get an idea. I spot a first aid kit in the corner of it. Most first aid kits have scissors in them. Maybe I can cut the excess fabric off my dress.

I get out of the car while I'm sure that no one is looking, and I walk nonchalantly to the tent. Well, as nonchalant as you can be when you look like something out of a Stephen King novel. After popping open the first aid kit, I find the scissors right on top. I'm almost back to the SUV when I hear someone call behind me

"Ma'am? Er- Captain Wills?" Great. This voice is higher, kinder. It's a girl's voice. I turn around.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Hi. I'm Penelope Garcia from the BAU. What are you doing with those scissors, exactly? I'm so sorry for bothering you and I know you were just though a terrifying experience, so if there's any way I can help, I will, but I feel obligated to ask you about the scissors from the med kit. _Do_ you need any help?" She seems nice. Incredibly stressed out, but incredibly kind as well.

"Actually. I took these so I could cut the bottom of my dress off so I didn't have to sit in dried blood. It's a bit morbid, but, do you think you could help me?" She seemed kind of shocked at first, but still willing to help, nonetheless.

"Of course. Sure. Uh, where do you want me to cut it? What length?" I look down and approximate where most of the blood stops.

"Can you cut it, like, six inches above the knee? So I still have a skirt, but I don't have to sit in… this?"

"Yes, absolutely." She says. I didn't realize how awkward the whole process would be until it was too late to tell her that I was fine doing it on my own.

"I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable," I say. "With the blood and everything."

"Well, yes, but I'll only be uncomfortable for a few moments. You've been sitting like this for a while now. "

"It's fine. Thank you for helping me, though."

"Anytime, Captain." The way she says 'Captain' gets me thinking. Am I important? Only one way to find out.

"Do you know what's happening? And can you get me a wire to the hospital? I'd like to check up on Captain Pierce. I want to see if she's okay." She finishes cutting and pops back up in front of me. The crusty bottom of my dress falls away and I remember now that I don't think I shaved my legs before the gala because I knew I had a longer dress. I hear shouting from the other side of the SUV. I can tell that she can hear it, too. It's the voice of a kid.

"Well, they're talking to the kids. I ran some searches, but they were pretty broad. They _think_ that there's a teenager slowly making the adults kill off each other one by one in an incredibly long and drawn out way. Lovely, I know. They don't know why. Let me see what I can do about the call." She escorts me to the communications tent while the team is still talking to the crying child. I hope to god that I can get the call over and done with before they're done. I've never seen Agent Hotchner's bad side before, but I'm not too intent on witnessing it before I die. Penelope hands me the phone and I can only assume _someone_ from the hospital is on the other end of it.

"Hello?"

"Captain Wills?"

"Yes, I'm calling to ask about the condition of someone who was admitted within the past few hours. Captain Shonda Pierce?"

"One moment," I can hear some shuffling and shifting on the other end. Like less satisfying elevator music to listen to while I wait.

"I don't know her condition as of right now. She was admitted forty five minutes ago for a laceration to her femoral artery. She's still in surgery, ma'am."

"Is it bad?" I ask, kind of abandoning my previous resolution to sound professional. I can feel a lump rising in my throat. I take some deep breaths, but it doesn't seem to help.

"I'm not sure, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"That's fine. Thank you very much. Goodbye." I hang up. I realize that it wasn't the most polite thing to do, but I can't seem to care at the moment. I can feel my eyes getting hot and the deep breaths aren't working. I start crying. Jesus, of all the places to start crying. I keep telling myself to stop on the inside but all that seems to do is egg on more tears.

"Are you okay?" It's Garcia, staring at me behind her candy-colored lenses. I can't talk or I'll burst into tears, but I burst into tears anyway. Without any other explaining, she rushes over and holds me tightly. Her hair smells like apples, which is a smell I would actually expect her hair to smell like. Bright, but welcoming. I just let it out. All of my frustrations in the form of tears, spilling down her shoulder and seeping into her shirt. By the way she held me, I genuinely felt like she couldn't care less.

Hotchner's P.O.V.

After the midnight shot rang out, I send Captain Wills to settle down in the car and gather the team together to try to figure this out before another six hours go by.

"If we assume that every shot every six hours," Spencer coughs and clears his throat. "Not including the shots fired at the helicopter haven't missed, we can conclude that he's hit his target all three times, meaning that our possible max body count is four."

"Four?" Prentiss asks, confused as to who the last victim would be.

"If Captain Pierce were to not survive the gunshot wound, it would be four. However, victims purely from these mystery gunshots would be three." Spencer explains.

"This can turn into more victims if we aren't careful and if we aren't quick. If we don't get this done soon enough, they could send in more law enforcement teams in, and they might not be so concerned with how many may die if they just go in guns blazing. This guy, whoever he is, has the whole town in his hands. They aren't fighting back for a reason."

"These kids are scared of him. It's written on their faces. They're working for him because they have to, not because they agree with him in his cause." Derek notes. He gestures to the kids, my eyes catching the one whom he was talking to earlier. He's crying on the ground in response to the gunshot.

"Should we go talk to him?" I ask.

"Wouldn't be a bad idea." Derek notes.

We head over to the crying child. Derek sit on the ground a few feet away, letting there be enough room so the rest of the children could see that he is in no danger.

"Vincent. How are you holding up?" From the way he's acting, it seems like a pretty self explanatory question.

"Not good. I miss my mom. I miss my dad."

"That's no good. Do you know what they're doing right now?" The child nods and wraps his hands around his knees.

"Do you think you could tell me?" Vincent didn't say anything. He just stared into the dirt, his tear-stained cheeks shaking at the heaving of his lungs.

"Vincent," He repeated. "Do you think you can tell me?" Derek inched closer to the boy. The older boy standing next to him noticed this, and had no problem with unholstering his gun and pointing it at Derek.

"That's enough! Back up!"

"I was just talking to your brother. There's no need to-"

"I don't care! Back up!" He screams. Derek puts his hands in the air and slowly backs away. Despite the presence of many other weapons being pointed at him, my own included, he does not put his gun away until Derek is far away enough from Vincent.

"You will _not_ talk to us again." Derek nods his head slowly and walks away. We follow suit.

When we get back to the communications tent, I notice that Captain Wills is missing forty percent of her dress and is crying with Garcia at her side. We don't need her immediately, so I leave Captain Wills there. As long as she stays in her seat, she should be fine. When you're in situations like this, you need to pick your battles, and my battle is this case. I'd be lying if I said that that kid hadn't reminded me of Jack, crying and all alone. I wanted more than anything to grab him, toss him in the car, and tell him that everything would be okay.

I need to focus.

"Are there any alternative entrances to the community other than the main entrance?" Garcia stood straight up and looked at a map on her laptop.

"I would say the sewers, but they've been flooded, according to the town's notification website. It was a problem that wasn't going to be fixed until this Thursday."

"No sewers. That leaves us with no options.

"Hotch. There is another option." Prentiss says. I look at her inquisitively.

"Flight."

Charlotte's P.O.V.

I watch as they phone in the nearest military base and ask for a single helicopter and a pilot to steer it. The pilot in that helicopter is going to do what Shonda and I did previously, but without headlights, staying out of the town, and what safety we had. Poor kid. He's going to have to fly to the back without headlights, land without landing lamps, and wait specifically until the redhead comes to find him. He's going to liftoff after that, despite the presumable shooting of the redhead, and leave. Why do this? What is all of this for? So Agent Hotchner can get out of the copter before the redhead finds it and pretend to be one of the adults. It's one of the craziest maneuvers I've ever heard of. If he's lucky, the adults will try to move and revolt while their captor's attention is taken, but if not, Hotch has to devise a plan to take them down. These are all things I'm probably not supposed to know, but I was in the communications tent when they hatched the plan, so I just went along with it. I'm pretty sure I even made eye contact with Hotchner, so he doesn't seem to mind. I think that he thinks that I'm not listening to what he says, that I'm so utterly frightened and shocked from what just happened that I'm not even paying attention. While we waited for the helicopter to arrive, which would take the better part of a half hour, Agent Rossi came up to me and started making conversation.

"So watching other people fly, is it like when I read other people's books? I'm a writer, so when I read other people's books, I feel qualified to give them criticism. Is it like that with you?" I sit and think about the question. It's kind of an odd thing to ask, but I figure he's just trying to make conversation with me, since I've been sitting here like a lunatic for god knows how long.

"I guess so, but I'm not much of a critic. We all make mistakes. God knows I've made a few. You also have to take into account that I have a profession that doesn't leave a ton of room for error. You _have_ to be good to get the pilot credentials. It's just protocol." He nods his head, even though, like me, he's watching the scene happen around him.

"Interesting. Whereas a writer doesn't have to have credentials at all. They can just sit at a computer for a few hours and publish whatever comes out of it."

"I feel like that's a part of what makes it easier to criticize."

"Touche." He nods at me and walks over to Hotch, nonchalantly. They start talking. I wonder if this is the weirdest case they've gotten yet. Has there been weirder? Are these conditions shocking anymore, or have they just become 'Things that need to be dealt with?"

Spencer isn't talking to anyone. Would it raise a stir if I talked to him? Everyone else seems preoccupied in their own conversations and planning, so I doubt I'll be noticed.

"Dr. Reid?" I ask. I've never really called him that seriously before, but I feel like that's what he'll respond to here.

"Yes?" He turns around before he realizes that it's me who is talking to him.

"Oh, Hey. How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine. This is going to sound, completely crazy, but… um…"

"Do you see what's happening? All around us? You can't top this crazy. What is it?"

"Do you know anything about the femoral artery? The odds of surviving with a partly lacerated femoral artery"

"Is it Captain Pierce? Is that where she was hit?" I don't say anything, but I nod, pressing my lips together.

"The average time it takes to bleed out is massively expansive. Anywhere from five to sixty minutes. Do you know where she is in the hospital?"

"Yes. Garcia got me a call to the hospital, and when I called, she was in surgery."

"That's the best things you could be saying to me. Of the qualifications to the odds of surviving a gunshot wound, besides area and proximity of the shot, there's the amount of time it takes for them to get to medical help. Luckily, for Captain Pierce, she got that attention after mere minutes. The fact that she was still talking after mere minutes proves that she has a shot, Charlotte. If her Femoral artery was hit, then it wasn't severed. Those sound like good chances to me- Oh. Nice dress. Did you get it hemmed?" He jokes. Over the course of his speech I have devolved into a sniveling blob of happy tears and heavy breathing.

"Why yes, I did. I'm so sorry. I'm a mess." I keep crying and bury my face in his jacket.

"You're fine. I'm sorry that you had to get roped into this." He says. He puts his hands on my back. They feel alien, but in a good way. Like the first time you taste pickles, and you realize how much you like pickles. That's what physical contact- intimacy- feels like. And now that I've tasted pickles, it's all that I want to eat. What could be better than pickles?

"It feels like a dream, you know? Just one thing after another thing. It's surreal." The final lines of my words are drowned out by the incoming Helicopter, landing in the nearby field. Everything seems to be going well until I realize that it's getting eerily next to the trees. There's a resounding 'SNAP" and I can see the helicopter begin to fly sideways, crooked, towards the center of the field.

"No," I say, but it's all lost in the chaos around me.

By some miracle of God, the helicopter found a way to land. The pilot on the inside starts running towards us, and I know it's not a good sign.

"What the hell happened?" Rossi yells at the pilot. As he gets closer, I realize that he's not older than twenty five. He's just a kid.

"Hit the rotor on something! Back end's bent! Doesn't fly right!"

"How the hell are we going to deal with that?" Rossi asks the fastly approaching pilot.

"We'll probably have to call back the base again, get a new 'copter."

"Do we look like we have time for that? People are dying, kid!"

"It's all we have time for, Rossi." I'm running to him. I don't know why, but I'm running to the pilot. This can't keep going on.

"What's wrong with it?" I ask him. "Exactly what's wrong?"

"Uh, Miss. The steering's just off. The back end's got it going to the left. I was left spiraling like an Oak seed pod."

"Could you still fly it?"

"What will I be doing, chief?" I look at Agent Hotchner, who takes a step towards the guy and begins explaining the maneuvers.

"Listen, I'm not _in_ experienced, sir, but that copter won't fly like it did on the way in. I can't guarantee that I can do all of that, sir." A gun goes off within the community walls. Agent Hotchner sighs and rubs his palms into his temples. My mouth runs faster than my mind does.

"I can." What am I saying? "I can, Agent Hotchner. I've had the adequate training. I've been trained to handle high-pressure emergency situations-"

"Captain Wills, what are you talking about?"

"We can't risk anyone else dying. I've had more experience than he has, Agent. Let me at least try to fly it. Let me see what I can do." He looked me up and down without much confidence in his eyes.

"You are in shock, you have not been trained with military helicopters in months, you are wearing half of a dress, and you don't have the proper gear. Captain Wills, that's a terrible ide-"

"I am _not_ in shock. I'm fine. I remember well enough."

"You had to be talked through how to land a helicopter."

"I was keeping her awake. You. Give me your vest."

"What?"

"Your helmet and vest. Hand it over." He looks at Agent Hotchner and begins taking off his helmet and jacket.

"Let me _try,_ " I ask him, rooted in my belief and drive to do this, despite literally every nerve in my brain is telling me to stop, to flee, to run from all of this. I don't know why I'm doing what I'm doing, but I'm determined to do it.

"It's not my place to say." Hotchner says. "I don't even know who we'd ask."

"Great. I do, and she's in the hospital. Let's get going. Are you ready Agent Hotchner?" He doesn't say anything at first, but replies after a few seconds.

"Warm it up again. Test it out. If it still works, give me the signal. We can do this."

"We can do this?!"

"We can do this! Get going."

"Yes, sir."

I ran. I ran to the helicopter, cursing myself the entire way there. When I thought it was him who'd be doing this, all I could think was 'poor kid.' Now all I can think is 'poor me.' I could hear Spencer's yelling at Hotch over all of the chaos.

"What's happening? What's she doing?!" I shut my eyes as I put on the Pilot's ill-fitting gear and hop into the helicopter. I clip one of the loops on the bottom of his jacket to the grip on the side of the helicopter. I grip the joystick and start it up. I take it off for a short test. I start spinning. I feel like I'm on one of those fair rides from when I was six. The ones that would make me throw up. I had to compensate for it with the steering. It wasn't easy, but I managed to get it under some type of control. I hover and bring it back down, standing up and giving Hotchner the big 'thumbs up.'

You know, you'd think that, because this seems like a big deal, he'd be wearing something more similar to what I'd be wearing. He's not. He's dressed like the average Joe, ready for work in an office building.

"Are you wearing something under that?" I yell over the helicopter rotors roaring above us.

"Nope. I shouldn't need it." He says, one hand gripping the back of my seat.

"I guess you're putting a lot of faith in the plan?"

"I'm putting a lot of faith in you." He says. I don't really know what else to say, so I don't say anything. I fly, maintaining as steady of a hold over the helicopter as I can. I didn't even know you _could_ screw up the steering on a helicopter so royally. I tried to stay as steady as I could without letting Agent Hotchner know, but I think he realized that I was having _some_ trouble.

"Remember. No headlights. You're going to be landing in the baseball park in the back of the community until you can see someone coming for you, hopefully it being the unsub" Unsub? I'm guessing that he's talking about the redhead. As I imagined the guy with the gun running towards me

"Just out of curiosity, how safe am I in this helicopter as compared to the one from the hospital?"

"Much safer. These ones are made out of metal that was meant to be shot at. You'll be much safer, but I still wouldn't hang around when you see him. When you see him, take off."

"Will do, Agent Hotchner." I felt my stomach begin to tie itself in knots. This was the most intense thing I've ever done, and I wasn't even in the academy anymore. I made sure to keep the headlights off and fly high enough so that trying to shoot us if we were heard would be hard. I got to the back of the community and started landing in a small baseball field. It was crazy and we almost began spinning out of control, but I kept us steady. Because there weren't any guides and I wasn't allowed to use headlights, I nearly hit one of the outer walls, but I managed to dodge it. We hit the ground and Hotch opened the side door

"Thank you, Captain. I'll see you when this is all over."

"You, too."

He jumps out of the helicopter in the pitch black and runs for the cover of the nearest house. I wait, resting my hands in my lap. It was weird, just waiting for some kid to come in, guns blazing. I felt like I was watching a horror movie, just waiting for a jumpscare to spontaneously appear and send my nerves into a paralyzed shock. I hummed the tune to a song I couldn't remember the name of once. Twice. Two and a half times. Then, I saw something. If he realized that we got as far as we got because we didn't use headlights or flashlights, he sure didn't keep the tactic in mind. It was the kid. He was using a flashlight to guide him through the dark town. I started revving the helicopter back up. He started sprinting when he saw what I was doing. I heard pitiful 'tings' of metal hit the side of the helicopter and do nothing. I got off the ground, beginning to spin before I remembered that I had to handle the back rotor. I got off the found before he got to me, getting higher and higher by the second. It took me no time nor hesitation to get out of there. I landed back in the field like I had done so before. Instead of Hotch meeting me in the field this time, it was Spencer. I get out of the helicopter and I started taking off all of the gear that I was given, leaving it in the grass.

"Charlotte!" He calls "Charlotte!"

"Spencer!" I called in return. He started running to me, not stopping until I was encased in his arms.

"Are you okay?"

"Absolutely. Perfectly fine. Just don't let go."

He walked me back to the tent, where I had to repeat verbatim everything that had happened while I was on the inside, even being asked to recall details that I didn't exactly remember.

"No lights anywhere? Not even in the houses? Nowhere?" A brunette woman asks me.

"No. There were lights in the center of town, but nowhere else." She sits and thinks about it.

"He could have rerouted the electricity, or cut it off from the rest of the town and bought his own lights on some other kind of power." Amidst all of this speculation, we sit with a close eye on the front gate of the community. There's nothing for a long time, and we don't know if that's good or bad. He's not shooting, but all of the hostages are still inside. The children on the outside are growing more weary by the second. One of them makes eye contact with me while I'm just staring at the door. It's a young boy, around 13, staring at me, the moonlight shining off of his coffee skin. He's mouthing something. I manage to make it out 'thank you.' I nod and smile at him. He smiles in return.

Eventually, we hear something at the front. Agent Hotchner has the redhead in handcuffs, and they're being followed by a crowd of adults.

"They have him." I say, half in shock, have in excitement.

"They have him!" Spencer repeats. Hotch has a black eye, but otherwise, he looks fine. Spencer hugs me and I squeeze him with all the effort I can muster. They manage to open the gate from the inside and they all start heading out.

"It's over?" I ask Spencer.

"Well, we have to clean up, find out who's dead, match up children to their parents, and someone needs to come and get the helicopter, but otherwise, yes. The hard part is over."

"Thank god." I say.

"Charlotte?" He says.

"Yes?"

"We should have stayed in rather than go to the gala." I furrow my brows and reach up to kiss him lightly

"I think the night couldn't have gone better. Thank you."

As everyone's being let out of Liberty Estates, the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit members run to greet him and ask about what happened. I felt like it wasn't my place. I sat back in the communications tent. I'll find out what happens later. As for now, I'm just glad that it's over. I walk to Garcia and ask if she can get me another line to the hospital. Not everyone is out of the woods yet.

 **Hey guys! I'm hoping this can count as a little 'Sorry I was on hiatus for so long' present! Now, I don't know what exactly my update schedule will be for the summer months, so I'm just playing around with it now, but I'm thinking It'll be more fluid than my school year schedule. Probably something like "No longer than two weeks.' So I can update at any time after the last chapter, but it will never be longer than two weeks (My old pattern) It might be a day, it might be a week, but it won't ever be longer than two. Also, I'm sorry if this chapter has more mistakes than usual. The editing app I use on my computer is getting weird. I'm trying to fix it!**  
 **Much love  
-Sarah (dontforgetmelondon)**


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